The first great storm of autumn was raging across the North on the late morning of 5 Vento, but the members of the Hand of Fortune were aware of it only as an occasional rumor of thunder, warm and comfortable in the suite of rooms given over to them by Prince Rhoghûn.  They were just sitting down to enjoy what had become their favorite meal of the day, what the Khundari called “brunch,” when Toran was shown in by Cris, interrupting Korwin’s lecture.

“Brunch is actually an old Telnori innovation,” Korwin was saying as he poured syrup over the battered, toasted bread on his plate, “one still very much in vogue in their lands, at least in the Empire. The Khundari “borrowed” the concept long ago, though of course they would deny any connection–”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Toran rumbled as he strode in, and at Mariala’s gesture pulled up a chair to the food-laden table. Though now officially on detached duty with the Hand, while in his home city he continued to bunk in the trainee’s quarters of the Shadow Guard, joining the group for strategy sessions and occasional social gatherings.He poured himself a glass of sparkling wine mixed with pear cider as he continued.

“I’ve just come from a meeting with Commander Darkeye. It seems that His Highness wants the old Fhorgîn complex sealed up again, but before that happens he wants it thoroughly explored and made safe. Unfortunately, he is reluctant to expose any more of our own people to the possible taint of that old heresy… there’s enough unrest and anxiety in the City right now, we don’t need the malcontents latching on to another tool to promote isolationism.

“To that end, I have been given the job of asking you all if you will undertake the task with me, since you are hardly likely to be corrupted by Khundari Supremacist philosophy.”

He took a long gulp of his drink before adding wryly, “Apparently I don’t count… why risk a fully trained Kahar-ün-Tem, when an acolyte has already been exposed, eh?”

The group discussed the particulars over their meal, and by the time Cris had brought in the steaming cups of chocolate it had been agreed that they would undertake the mission for the Prince.

“Excellent,” Toran exclaimed, slamming his palm down on the table. “We’ll prepare this afternoon, and enter the complex tomorrow at the second hour after the lamps lighten!”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning found the six members of the Hand once more sifting through the charred ruins of what had been Arlun Parek’s secret bed chamber cum study. Although both they and the Shadow Guard had scoured the ruins on the day of the assassination attempt, it was decided it was worth one more fine-tooth-comb-search, for secret doors if nothing else.

But it proved fruitless, and once they were convinced of that, they moved on towards the lava chamber. At the end of the hallway opposite Arlun’s chamber they re-examined the small 3×3 meter chamber behind the ancient oak door. It took Toran only a few minutes to find a hidden door, and everyone tensed as he searched for the locking mechanism. But when the section of stone wall slid grindingly aside all that was revealed was another wall of tightly packed rubble.

“It looks like this was purposefully sealed off,” Toran informed his companions after a few minutes of close examination. “And quite a long time ago… no doubt when the sect was suppressed, so almost 600 years past.”

Since it was his considered opinion that it would take a team of engineers and miners several days to even begin clearing the blockage, it was agreed that they should reseal the door, note it, and move on.

Over the next hour, moving slowly and carefully along the long corridors and numerous steep stairways that led down to the lava chamber, Toran discovered four more secret doors. All of them were similarly blocked with solid walls of rubble, and were similarly resealed and noted in his ledger.

Coming at last to the heat and ruddy light of the great cavern, they stood once again on the pier of dressed stone that jutted out into the lake of molten lava. It seemed unchanged from the last time they’d seen it, save that the great gouts of lava that had been thrown up by the inter-dimensional portal had hardened to stone, encrusting parts of the platform. They began a methodical examination of the large, uncomfortably hot chamber, the almost subsonic rumble of the lavafall requiring them to almost yell… Devrik’s own low rumble of a voice was almost unhearable.

A close examination of the cavern walls accessible  to the platform, the pillars, and the platform itself revealed no hidden doors or other interesting features. The rocky shelves along the far walls of the chamber appeared inaccessible by any means at the group’s disposal, and so they turned their attention to the long shelf running west from the platform. It was about a meter-and-a-half drop from the edge of the stone platform, and the shelf was narrow, often little more than a meter wide, sloping down from the rough cavern wall into the magma.

No one was particularly anxious to risk the treacherous-looking path, and finally Toran sighed, and stepped forward.

“I’m more accustomed to this kind of heat, in any case,” he said, as he lowered himself over the edge, Devrik steadying him. “And the Commander did put me in charge…”

The others watched with varying degrees of concern and interest as he slowly made his way along the rugged shelf, one hand always touching the wall. He examined it closely for any signs of hidden doors or concealed tunnels, but he was taken completely by surprise when, near the end of the shelf, his hand went through the stone. The sudden loss of balance sent him tumbling, and from his companion’s point of view he vanished bodily through the solid rock wall.

The group stared in confusion at the place where Toran had been for a moment, and were just scrambling to go after him when his head suddenly poked out through the rough stone wall. His arm followed, and he waved.

“It’s an illusion,” he yelled. “This whole section of wall here is just a very realistic illusion… there’s a corridor beyond it!”

The rest of the Hand quickly, but carefully, made there way to Toran’s head, wary of the pebbles they dislodged that skittered and slid down into the molten pool, where they disappeared with a hiss. They soon joined him in a corridor of ancient worked stone, three meters wide and a little over two meters high – Vulk’s head nearly brushed the ceiling, and he had to resist the temptation to slouch. The light from the magma chamber filled the corridor, the illusion apparently only working from one direction, fading into dimness 10 or 12 meters down ahead of them.

Dimness, but not darkness they discovered as they moved slowly down the dry, crumbling passageway. Every five meters or so the way was lit by the low yellow glow of Khundari glowstones, dim with age but still casting enough light for even the Umantari to see adequately. The corridor continued west (or so Toran assured the others, who were completely lost direction-wise when underground) for twenty meters or so, where they were confronted with a steep flight of crumbling stone steps going up into dimness. As they climbed the steps, Vulk this time having to stoop to avoid hitting his head, the stonework grew less friable and more stable.

“The heat from the magma chamber has a corrupting effect on the dressed stone,” he explained to his companions. “Things should be in better shape as we go on…”

And go on they did, for several hundred more meters, as the corridor turned first north and then east, rising on several sets of steep stairs. By the time they reached the arched doorway at the end of a long, flat stretch of corridor Toran estimated they were more than 100 meters above  the level of the magma cave. They paused outside the doorway, examining what they could see of the space beyond. Eventually they step cautiously across the threshold.

The room was 10 meters square, with plain dressed-stone walls. On the far wall, opposite the doorway, was a small stone basin set at about chest height for the average Khundari. But what dominated the room was the ceiling – considerably higher than that of the corridor, and slanted up at a 20° angle from the wall the doorway pierced, it was carved in a likeness of the face of the Immortal Gheas, Lord of the Khundari, God of the subterranean places of the world. The visage was a stern, even angry one, staring down on the room’s occupants with deep-set stone eyes and a black mouth opened as if to pronounce judgment on those below.

Etched into the stone wall above the basin, and inlaid with bronze, were words in the Runic alphabet of the Khundari. Toran read them aloud to the others:

“Let the hot blood
of the Suplicant Child
be offered to the Great One
and thus the test begins
his worthiness to prove.”

 The bottom of the inside of the stone basin was a dark reddish-brown color, the color of old, dried blood, and the inference seemed obvious. A blood sacrifice was required, although for what was not really clear. Before considering that option, they searched the the walls and floor of the room for any sign of hidden doors or trap panels; but even Toran could find no hint of where an exit might lie.

“So whose blood do we use,” Erol asked at last. “And how much of it?”

“Well, it seems pretty obvious whose blood is required,” Korwin replied with certainty. “This is a Khundari construct, and apparently a racist Khundari one at that… if it’s blood that is needed, then surely it must be Khundari blood. Obviously.”

There was some argument about this, but in the end Toran agreed with the logic. He used his dagger to prick a finger and squeezed a few drops of blood into the basin. Nothing happened.

“I’m afraid they want more than that,” Mariala said regretfully, after a few minutes had passed. “Look at the basin, where the stain is darkest…”

The ninja-dwarf-in-training sighed, and cut a gash along his left forearm, letting the blood drip into the basin until it had reached the line of the old stain. As he was wrapping a strip of cloth around the wound there came a deep rumbling sound from behind them, and the group whirled to see a great slab of black stone drop down across the doorway. But before anyone could react, a second rumbling began and a section of the north wall began to rise slowly upward, revealing a room beyond.

This room was slightly smaller, a 7×7 meter square, again with plain dressed-stone walls. The ceiling was flat and unadorned, a bit less than 3 meters high – this time it was the floor that was of interest. The paving stones were laid out so as to make an obvious grid of squares, five by five, with the center square being a single stone, carved with a stylized sun and glowing with a soft yellow light. The rest of the light in the room came from five huge, gently glowing crystals of transparent faceted blue stone that seemed randomly scattered across the floor. There were also three stone “pillars,” each about a meter high, placed around the room. These were carved in the distinctive stylized faces of the most ancient of Khundari art, and atop each one was a raised circle of red stone, almost like a button.

Careful not to touch anything, the group spread out around the chamber, examining everything as closely as possible… the crystals seemed to actually float a hair’s breadth above the floor, while the carved “pillars” seemed solidly embedded in place. There was much quiet discussion about what it might all mean, although Toran was quiet, thoughtfully examining the set up.

Vulk finally shrugged and placed a hand on one of the faces of the crystal closest to him… it was warm to the touch, and even as he started to say so, the crystal moved away from his hand, gliding silently across the floor until it came to rest against the far wall. At the same time the door to the blood basin room slid shut with a grinding boom.

“I hardly touched it!” he objected over the sudden excited babble. When nothing more untoward happened, and no other door revealed itself, everyone quieted down, and began experimenting… it soon became clear the crystals would move in the direction desired with even the slightest touch on the opposite face, and would not stop until they encountered an obstruction – wall, bumper pillar, or other crystal. A person didn’t count as an obstacle, as Korwin discovered to his annoyance and the others momentary amusement.

Vulk pointed out, as Korwin picked himself and his dignity up off the floor, that once an obstruction was met a crystal could not be moved from that side, even if one reached across and shoved hard on the appropriate face. Apparently you needed to stand directly in back to make a crystal move forward. What the purpose of all this might be evoked some heated debate, until Toran finally spoke.

“I’ve seen something similar, during my training at Areth-Mar,” he said. “it’s a logic puzzle… Khundari priests and scholars use such things to train and test students or candidates. I’ve never seen one exactly like this, but if the form holds true, then the goal is to get a crystal onto the sun icon in that glowing center square…”

“Which one, though?” Erol asked, apparently somewhat bemused by the whole thing.

“If one was a different color, I’d guess that one would be the obvious choice. But since they’re all blue, I don’t think it matters.”

“But we’ve been moving them around now,” Mariala pointed out. “Several of the crystals are blocked now… is it even possible to achieve the goal at this point?”

“There is often a way to reset a puzzle,” Toran answered. “But not always… if this is some kind of fitness test…”

“Hmmmm,” Vulk murmmered, almost to himself. “Maybe…”

He reached over to the red stone “button” on top of the nearest bumper pillar, which he had noticed Korwin studying for several minutes, and pressed down on it. The circle of stone clicked and began to sink into the top of the bumper, not stopping until it was several centimeters below the surface. At the same time all of the crystals that had been moved began to slide across the floor, causing several of the Hand to jump hastily out their way. In less than a minute they had rearranged themselves into their initial pattern.

“It looks like the sect’s candidates, or whatever, had three chances to solve the puzzle,” Korwin said in approval. “One reset per ‘bumper’ pillar.”

“Yes,” Mariala agreed. “And now we’re in the same position, and have only two tries left. So what happened to the… whatever… if they didn’t get it in three? And what happens to us? ”

No one had an answer for that, however, and it seemed there was no choice but to try and solve the puzzle. Korwin, Vulk, Toran and Mariala discussed the various permutations and sketched them out with the tip of a dagger on the walls, while Erol and Devrik examined the walls for signs of a hidden door they might force open by main strength. But even knowing where the door by which they’d entered the room was, they could see no trace of it now that it was closed, and had no better luck finding an exit.

Eventually Korwin was certain he had the correct sequence of moves required to move a crystal onto the glowing center square, and the others took up stations around the room to move the floating stones at his direction. And in seven moves he was proved right, as the last crystal slid silently into place over the carved sun symbol. Everyone held their breath… and a section at the center of the north wall began to slide upward. They all exhaled in relief.

The new corridor that was revealed was dimly lit by the usual ancient glowstones, and ran flat for 10 meters before it jogged to the east. And 1o meters beyond that, it opened into another 10 x 10 meter square room. This one was bare of any ornamentation on walls or ceiling, but a black stone slab door was clearly visible in the center of the eastern wall, facing the party as they entered. Even as the last member of the group entered the room, and Devrik turned to consider how he might prevent them from being trapped should another door come down behind them – and one did, as another slab of smooth black stone slid almost silently into place, sealing them in once again.

“Damn it!” he bellowed. “Why did we all enter the damn room together?”

“Because it’s unlikely any of us being out there would do much good,” Toran pointed out calmly. “This place seems to be a gauntlet of tests, and probably designed to be run by a single candidate… two maybe. The mechanisms for opening the doors would not be inside the test area. There’s either a separate control area, or, given the bloodthirsty nature of this particular sect, it’s more likely that they won’t open until the tests are all either successfully completed or the candidate dies… of dehydration or whatever gruesome punishments failure might lead to. Then the ones in charge would simply come in and remove the body and get everything ready for the next run. Anyway, the other doors are already sealed behind us, so there’s really no option but to go forward…”

No one could argue with that logic, and since the combined strength of Erol and Devrik wasn’t enough to budge the door behind them even the slightest, they moved on to examine the probable exit door. Like the one behind, it was of a single slab of smooth black stone, but possessing a small hole in the center, just a bit wider than the average finger. The surface of the door below the hole, however, was streaked with what looked like the reddish-brown of old dried blood, and on the floor beneath it could be seen several small bones.

“They’re finger tips!” Mariala exclaimed as she pick one up to examine it more closely. “Ugh!” She let it drop back to the floor and surreptitiously wiped her hand on her dress.

The conclusion seemed obvious, and no one was anxious to stick their finger into the mysterious hole. Korwin shone the light from his lantern into the opening, and tried to peer within without putting his face directly in front of the hole, but could make out nothing. Erol borrowed one of Devrik’s spears to probe the hole, but found it too large in diameter. Toran drew out one of his blow darts and inserted it into the opening, but it went no further in than a finger’s length or so.

No one could decide what this might be a test of… courage? A willingness to sacrifice for “the Cause?” Cleverness? Toran did point out that he’d never heard that members of the Fhorgîn sect had only nine fingers, which would, after all, have been a bit of a give-away for a secret society. With a deep breath he stuck his finger into the hole. Rather than feeling the pain of a blade, he felt another opening to the left, and a solid pad he could touch when he crooked his finger. He pushed.

With a slight grinding noise the slab began to sink into the floor, and he hastily removed his finger from the hole.

“So maybe that was a test of the willingness to sacrifice after all,” he said as they moved cautiously into the corridor now revealed beyond the doorway. “But no sacrifice was actually taken.”

“This time,” Vulk muttered darkly.

The new corridor was only about 15 meters long, and ended in a narrow doorway onto a small room. Looking at one another, with a collective shrug of their shoulders, the group crowded into the 3 x 3 meter square room, and were unsurprised when another black slab slid into place behind them. Another plain, low ceilinged room, with only a large lever set into the floor at the center of the space. Before anyone could do more than glance at the pitted bronze handle, however, a deep, booming voice suddenly filled the room.

The words were Khundari, and both Toran and Mariala said at the same time “It’s counting down from eight!”

As the countdown reached its end, Mariala reached out and pulled the lever toward her with a loud ratcheting sound, fully expecting ravenous beasts or something to leap out at them. But instead the lever snapped back into place when she released it, and the booming voice stopped in mid-word. The silence stretched on for several seconds.

“Well, that turned out–” she began, only to be interrupted by the voice again beginning to count down from eight. Again she pulled the lever, again the countdown stopped, and again it resumed from eight after an eight second pause. Eventually the party all agreed that they would have to let the countdown complete without pulling the lever, and they braced themselves for whatever dire challenge would face them…

The countdown finished, and a hidden door to their right, on the south wall, slid open almost silently. After a few moments of waiting for something to come through the door, the group cautiously moved forward into the next corridor.

Less than 10 meters further on they found themselves in a somewhat larger room, about 7 meters deep by 10 meters wide. Directly ahead of them was a large alcove set into the south wall, in which stood a large mechanical device of bronze, iron and stone. Two levers stood at either side of the device, and above it were three tiers of what looked like stone gears laying horizontal to the floor. Each gear had eight faces, and on each face was carved a Runic number, from one to eight. The three faces that faced directly outward, towards the party, read, from top to bottom, 2–1–1.

Carved into the wall behind the strange contraption was another inscription, and like the one in the entrance chamber inlaid with bronze. Toran read it aloud to his companions:

“So honor Gheas who made us all
The Patriarchs who sired us
The Matriarchs who bore us”

While they pondered what this might mean, Korwin reached out and pulled one of the levers, causing the lower and middle gears to spin right, changing the numbers facing outward to 8 on each one. At this point it became obvious to everyone what was required – arrange the numbered gear faces so that they read down as a specific sequence. And while Devrik pointed out there were only 512 possible combinations to try, what the sequence might be seemed equally obvious, as almost everyone knew that the number of Khundari Patriarchs and their wives numbered seven each.

“That’s true,” Toran agreed when Mariala pointed this out. “But one of the heretical beliefs of  the Fhorgîn sect held Gheas himself to have been the First Patriarch, and Alea his wife to be the First Matriarch. They aren’t the only heretics to believe so, but it would weed out any adherents of the true Gheasin faith, who would likely automatically answer “seven”… so I believe the required sequence will be 1-8-8.”

“This seems rather simple,” Korwin commented as he reached for the opposite lever. “We’re two-thirds there already, we just need to move the top number to “1.”

He pulled the handle toward him and the top gear did indeed turn to the right, bringing the “1” into view. But the center gear also moved again, changing the center “8” to “7.”

“Not quite so simple as it seems,” Vulk murmured dryly. Korwin pushed the handle away from himself this time, and now the top and center gears spun to the left. When he pushed the opposite lever the lower and center gears moved left, and the sequence was back to 2-1-1.

“We just need to figure out the right sequence of pushes and pulls,” he muttered, his mind racing over the permutations.

“I don’t think it’s going to be possible to achieve,” Mariala said after a few minutes of considering the problem herself. “Not if the center gear always turns in lockstep with both of the others…”

“No, I’m sure it’s just a matter of the right equation,” Korwin replied distractedly.

“Maybe if we just held down–” Vulk started to say, but was shushed to silence by the deeply concentrating mage. After a couple more attempts to get through to his companion, Vulk simply reached past him and pulled down on one of the levers, holding it down while the top and center gears moved right. He continued to hold it, and while the top gear stopped moving the center one continued to spin until he released the lever.

“Oh,” said Korwin in surprise. “Yes, I see…”

It was but the work of a moment to spin the gears into the proper configuration, and when they did two things happened at once – a hidden door in the center of the eastern wall ground slowly open, and a compartment in the bronze bass of the the gear device slid open. Within the compartment was another inscription and a crystal vial of a faintly luminescent yellow liquid. Toran again translated the writing for the others:

“For one who honored our past, a gift – if you wish to go unseen by those with no eyes to see you, then drink.”

Vulk pulled the vial from its resting place to examine more closely, while the others discussed what it might mean.

“I think I know,” Devrik called from the newly opened doorway. “Undead!”

The others quickly gathered around him to peer down the long corridor beyond the doorway. It was very dimly lit, the glowstones giving off a low reddish illumination, about three meters wide and four meters high, with a barrel-vaulted ceiling. An arched doorway could be seen at the far end, perhaps 30 meters away, and a wide swath of red-stained stone ran down the center of the passageway, faded with age, but clearly once a deep Khundari red. On either side the walls were lined with alcoves… sixteen in total, as far as they could tell in the low light.

Each alcove was set half a meter above the floor, and contained a stone chair in which was seated a skeletal figure. The ones that could be clearly seen from the doorway appeared to be clad in ancient armor, pitted and corroded by time, the clothing beneath rotted and hanging in tatters. Korwin brought out his lantern and focused the light down the corridor, trying to get a better look at the skeletons… the first pair seemed to hold no weapons, but the second set of facing corpses each held a long knife, while the third pair seemed to be holding short swords…

Vulk felt a chill go down his spine and his stomach lurched as he stared down the long passage lined with what were almost certainly going to turn out to be the undead… he flashed back to that horrifying moment months ago when he first felt the icy touch of the Shadow, and the agonizing pain of feeling his very life force being sucked from his body. He was barely aware of the others as they debated who, if anyone, should drink the potion, and what their strategy should be, as he struggled to reign in his fear and master himself.

After a moment of this internal struggle, he suddenly straightened up, invoked his holy armor as he drew his sword, and strode into the sepulcher-like hall. His companions turned to stare in astonishment as he came abreast of the first pair of remains and stopped, ready for an attack. But after a moment, when nothing seemed to be happening, he slowly moved further down the corridor… only to find that when he was between the first and second set of alcoves the skeletons in the first pair suddenly stood and stepped down from their resting places.

Vulk whirled around and prepared to dash past the shambling things, but they were fast and very focused on him, reaching out for him with razor claws. His holy armor flared as one raked his chest, and he swung his sword wildly, panic again overcoming him. But when he had first stepped into the corridor Devrik and Erol had ended the debate over the potion, each one gulping down half the vial’s contents, and now they dashed in, weapons raised.

The animated skeletons paid not the slightest attention to the newcomers, and remained focused on Vulk, if only briefly. A single blow from Devrik’s battelesword and one thrust and twist of Erol’s trident left them two crumpled piles of bone, cloth and metal. With a relieved sigh Vulk stepped over the remains and the three friends stepped back into the relative safety of the gear room.

“Well,” said Devrik in satisfaction, “the potion seems to work as advertised. The cursed undead things didn’t seem to know we were there, even when we hacked them to pieces!”

“I’m not so sure they’re actually undead,” Vulk said somewhat shakily. “We’ve been in the presence of the real thing more than once, me more so than anyone else… I felt no chill of the Void, even when one of the things hit me.

“If these really are reanimated dead, I don’t think it is the Shadow of Torzhalo that’s doing the reanimating…”

“Well, whatever it is, they’re still dangerous,” Erol shrugged. “And since they can’t seem to see Devrik or me, it seems obvious the best way to solve this particular puzzle…”

And so the two fighters strode back into the hall, and passing down its length they systematically hacked each skeletal Khundari warrior into powdered piles of debris. Not a single skeleton raised even a finger bone to resist them. When the work was done the rest of the group moved cautiously to join the two warriors in the red-floored chamber at the end of the corridor… Vulk was quietly relieved when the piles of bone showed no signs of reanimating as the unpotioned living passed them by.

The red-floored room, seven meters square, had a bas-relief frieze running along the walls at about chest height for most of the humans. The colors that had once enlivened the scenes of Khundari military triumphs over Gülvini, Umantari and Telnori foes were chipped and faded now, and if the room had at one time held a test or trial, it apparently did so no longer. A doorway on the far side of the room stood open, leading into a short eastern-running corridor of the usual two meter width.

In their standard marching order the Hand made their way along the latest passage, which quickly turned south. Ten meters later it turned to the west, and for a long stretch of 60 meters or more it continued so, before debouching into the largest chamber they had yet encountered in this “Gauntlet of Gheas” as they had dubbed the complex. They all groaned as they viewed the scene before them.

“Not another one!” Erol complained as he viewed the dozen large blue crystals scattered about the large space.

It did seem to be another logic puzzle, but on a much larger scale. The room was L-shaped, with the long axis running 30 meters north to south and 12 meters wide, and the short axis jutting out from the southeast 20 meters wide and 10 meters wide. Twelve blue crystals, four carved stone bumpers, and two glowing sun-etched plates, one red and the other purple, were scattered about the space. The ceiling was a ribbed-arch barrel vault, five meters high at the center. The door the group entered the room by was in the eastern wall, just south of center, and no other exits were visible.

“Well, I think we know how this works,” Korwin sighed happily, and he immediately set to work puzzling out how to move a crystal onto each of the glowing squares. With the help of Mariala, Vulk and Toran, while Devrik and Erol again searched for the hidden door or doors, he soon had the solution worked out. The group didn’t need even one of the four resets the room’s bumpers seemed to imply, and as the last crystal slid into place a hidden door slid open a few meters south of the one they had entered by.

Forming up again, the group headed east once again, down another 30 meters of gray, dimly lit stone corridor. At the end of the passage they found themselves in the northwest corner of another 10 x 10 meter square room, this one with a domed ceiling eight meters above them, from which began to emanate a brighter than usual glow. This mild yellow light revealed a startling scene that stopped the party in their tracks. Three semicircular stone daises lined the walls of the chamber, one centered on each of the north, east and south walls, and on each dais stood a living figure!

Closest to the party, on the north platform, was a tall Telnori warrior, in shining armor and high, plumed helm, armed with a broadsword and shield. His cold, arrogant face twisted into a snarl as he turned to look at the intruders, and he instantly lunged forward to attack. But he was brought up short by a steel chain, attached to an iron collar around his neck, kept just out of reach of the group crowded near the door.

As the tall warrior leaped forward, so too did the figures on the other platforms – a snarling, foaming Gülvini, ebony skinned, blue haired, and heavily tusked, wielding an enormous curved mang, from the eastern dais;  and a well-muscled Umantari warrior with blond hair, a spear, and an equally enraged visage from the southern. But like the Telnori, they were brought up short by the chains and collars that restrained them. Although they were certainly within reach of one another, they showed no inclination to fight amongst themselves, but seemed totally focused on the group.

Or rather on Toran they soon discovered, as they moved about as much as they could while remaining out of reach of the slavering fighters.

“The three great enemies of my people, according to the Fhorgîn Sect,” he said thoughtfully, as he studied the figures. “Apparently I – or the would-be sect member – was supposed to slay these representatives of Khundari oppressors.”

“That seems obvious,” Mariala agreed. “But the real question is how could they still be here, alive? The Telnori, maybe, but even they can’t live out their long lifespans without food or water… this whole place is imbued with arcane energies, and I can’t sense any specific spell operating here. Could they be illusions?”

Erol stepped forward and jabbed his trident at the Telnori, who blocked with his shield. He felt the jolt up his arm, and almost had his weapon wrenched away before stepping back.

“Seems real enough to me,” he said laconically.

“Could they have been in stasis until we entered the room?” Devrik wondered, hefting his own weapon suggestively.

Attempts to communicate with the three chained warriors elicited nothing more than anti-Khundari rants from the Telnori and the Umantari, and grunts and howls from the Gülvini.

“Perhaps we could get by them if they could be calmed,” Vulk offered, even as he began the chant to call down the blessings of the Herald’s Peace on the room. True, it would make them all disinclined to fight, but since the Hand really had no desire to do so in this case, it didn’t seem to be a problem. The ritual completed, the strange calm settled over the group, and their weapons slowly lowered as any urge to combat faded from their minds.

Unfortunately, the chained warriors showed no similar inclination towards passivity… indeed, if anything, their efforts to reach the party redoubled as their defensive posture relaxed. For the next 30 minutes or so the group stood around and calmly discussed their options (always shying away from anything involving violence, of course), and waited for the effects of the ritual to fade.

Even after the Herald’s Peace wore off, Erol was still all for finding some way to bypass the three to find an exit, but it became increasingly clear that would be impossible. Eventually, despite misgivings about the true nature of the obstacle in their path, it was decided they had to take them out.

Toran unlimbered his crossbow, loaded a bolt, and aimed at the Gülvini… at least if they turned out to be real, he’d lose no sleep over destroying one of that cursed breed. The bolt struck the creature in the left shoulder, knocking it back on its dais. The second bolt took it between the eyes as it struggled to rise. Despite attempts at blocking and dodging, the other two chained fighters soon joined it in apparent death.

“Well, that was like shooting fish in a trough,” Toran sighed as he slung his crossbow over his shoulder. To the south, along the same wall they’d entered the chamber through, another hidden door ground slowly open.

But as the group moved toward it, Mariala held up her hand, looking about in some consternation.

“Wait! Don’t you hear that?”

The others all looked at her blankly. They heard nothing, and said so.

“I hear a voice,” she continued. “It’s in my head… so faint… and look at the bodies! There’s no blood…”

The group quickly saw that she was right, despite bolts through various bits of them, where there should have been large amounts of blood on bodies and floor, there was nothing. As Mariala put her hands to her head to concentrate on the voice in her head, Devrik gestured at the bodies and muttered an incantation of dispelling.

For an moment nothing seemed to happen, and then the bodies began to flicker slightly… and when they did, the watchers suddenly saw not Telnori, Umantari and Gülvini corpses, but rather vaguely humanoid clumps of clay. The two visions continued to flicker erratically across one another, as Mariala began to speak.

“It’s the soul of a Telnori warrior,” she said. “He is so weak… but he says they are trapped souls… captured long ago by… he says, ‘thrice-cursed Khundari wizard-priests’… imprisoned within shells of clay… bound all about by spells… of illusion and compulsion… he is the only one… with the skill to speak mind-to-mind… but only with one also trained to it…”

She stopped, looking up at the others, her face a mask of horror and grief.

“I can feel some of what they feel… just a fraction, but it’s so awful! We need to free them! If we don’t, who knows how long it will be before someone he can communicate with will come along? It’s only after they have been ‘killed’ that the spells weaken enough for him to try this communication… he says even a gül doesn’t deserve this torment!”

“But how can we free them?” Devrik asked, frowning at the flickering forms on the floor. “Destroy these clay puppets completely?”

“No. They need the blessings of a god,” she said simply, and everyone turned to look at Vulk.

“Well of course I’ll try,” the Kasiran cantor said immediately, and quickly began to prepare himself for the ritual that would call down the blessings of his goddess on these tormented souls. While the others watched in subdued silence, he prayed and sought Kasira’s luck, and then he began the ritual phrases to summon her blessing.

There was nothing dramatic, no beams of godly light or celestial music, but as the cantor finished the ritual there was a moment of silent peace and a lifting of an oppressive weight they had hardly been aware of since entering the complex. No one spoke even after the moment had faded to memory, until Mariala stepped up to Vulk, touching his arm, smiling through tears.

“It worked,” she said simply. “I saw them, ghostly images of the forms they must have worn in life, as they rose from their clay prisons. They bowed towards you, Vulk, even the gül, and then they turned to me and saluted before they just… faded away.”

It was a sober and reflective group that exit the dais chamber, leaving behind three lumps of clay and mud, no longer shrouded in even the illusion of life.

It was a long corridor they followed westward now, again dimly lit with dying glowstones. Eventually they came to a turn north, and a short while later, an apparent dead end. As Toran stepped forward to search for a hidden door and its locking mechanism, he once again found what he had expected to be solid to be in fact quite insubstantial. His hand passing through the wall was followed quickly by the rest of him.

When he didn’t reappear after a moment, the others decided there was nothing for it but to follow. The party soon found itself in a familiar room, with the stern carved visage of an angry Gheas staring down at them from the ceiling, the blood-stained basin on the wall to their right, and the once sealed entrance again open to their left.

“Let’s get out of here,” Toran suggested. “I think we have enough to satisfy his Highness, and the sooner his engineers seal this place up, the better.”

No one was inclined to disagree with that sentiment, and so they slowly made their way back up into the living Khundari city and away from the evils of a dead past.

A few moments of discussion was all it took for the Hand of Fortune and High Priest Horgûn Entargel to devise a plan of action. Speed was of the essence, and secrecy. The High Priest agreed to keep Gerif Urnoketh in custody and incommunicato while the Hand attempted to forestall the planned assassination of the Imperial Ambassador in Dürkon. He has trusted aides, and his own holy powers, to keep the man under control.

“I will keep him in my own chambers, while giving out that I have sent him on a task up the valley to our clay works… we have had some small problems there, it will be believable. Knowing who his spies are, I will see that they are kept too busy to think much about their master’s whereabouts, at least for half a tenday or so. Between a few trusted aids and my own powers, I should have no trouble keeping him subdued until your return.”

On the best method of reaching Dürkon in a hurry he also had some advice, after regretfully reminding the group that Nitaran Vortices didn’t work in this area, by the will of Kalos. So portal travel was not an option.

“However, ” the old man continued, “there are already several lake boats at our docks, preparing to carry some of our wealthier pilgrims back to Vespina Abbey and their road home – I’m sure enough silver could persuade one of them to carry you north instead… Indeed, I am almost certain that the boatman Gerif had in his pay is amongst them… what was his name? Ah, yes, Joreth Vederzin…”

While Mariala and Erol assisted Horgûn in getting their prisoner back to the High Priest’s private quarters, and Korwin went to find their entourage and explain what was afoot, Vulk and Devrik headed for the docks. The holy day fetsivities were just beginning to wind down, and they found several of the boatmen staggering back to their vessels.

The one they sought for specifically, however, had apparently skipped the party, and the drinking – they found Joreth Vederzin sober and sharp-witted, watching his competitors drunken revelry with a sardonic smile. He would have no hangover when the sun rose, and would thus be able to drive a harder bargain with the pilgrims (who would themselves most likely be worse for the wear) than the other boatmen.

And seeing a lucrative morning ahead, he was disinclined to take a party north, where he was not guaranteed any return business. He appeared a shrewd and hard man, if affable enough in the bargaining, and Vulk soon realized his diffident manner masked a keen intelligence. He was no doubt calculating who might pay for information on a group so anxious to reach the dwarven city. He was also extremely handsome, in a dark, rugged way, and Vulk was certain his appraising gaze held more than just pecuniary calculation.

“Devrik,” he said, pulling his friend aside, “why don’t you head back and get some rest? I think I can handle this negotiation on my own…”

Devrik glanced back at the boatman, who was watching them intently, then back at Vulk. He grinned knowingly, and gave the cantor a friendly slap on the back that almost sent him into the water.

“Just see that you get the better end of the deal, my friend,” he said as he strode off into the twin-moonlit night.

“I always do,” Vulk murmured as he turned back to Joreth.

The boatman gestured to the small cabin at the aft end of his boat, and suggested, with a grin, that they take their discussion to a more comfortable spot… When Vulk emerged back onto the dock some time later, having settled on a gold crown to ferry the group to Dürkon, both moons had sunk behind the western mountains, and the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. With a satisfied smirk he headed back toward the monastery complex.

Meanwhile, with the prisoner secured, the High Priest arranged with Mariala and Erol to keep the Hand’s horses and servants safe for them. This was not an unusual occurance when pilgrims failed to return from the Labyrinth, he assured them. Usually such livestock and possessions became the property of the monestary, and abandoned servants were known to take up a calling or engage in lay work for the monks, so no suspicions should be aroused.

With all done that could be done, the friends grabbed a few hours of rest, although no one was really tired. They had entered the Triple Labyrinth in the early morning, and had surely spent no more than two watches within (it was hard to be sure… time had seemed to move so strangely there), and despite the missing days their bodies felt it should be no later than mid-afternoon. Having the Mad God heal their injuries had, perhaps, something to do with it too.

Devrik returned to their chambers just as Mariala was settling in under her covers.

“Where is Vulk?” she asked quietly, as the warrior-mage hung his weapons on his bedpost.

“He’s… negotiating… a deal with the boatman,” he replied, giving her a knowing grin. “I wouldn’t expect him back any time soon.”

Mariala just rolled her eyes, sighed, and turned over to try and sleep… it had been rather a long time since she’d done any… “negotiating” herself… if only Korwin wasn’t such an arrogant ass, maybe…

♦ ♦ ♦

Vulk roused his friends just before dawn, with an annoyingly cheery tone to his voice. “Come on, you slugs, we’ve an assassination to stop!”

Mariala slugged him as she headed for the latrine, which only made him grin more. The others just muttered darkly, save for Devrik, who asked if he’d gotten the best of the boatman.

“I think we both came out ahead, in the end,” Vulk laughed, slinging his pack over his shoulder and buckling on his sword belt. Devrik laughed and gathered up his own weapons.

The group was down at the docks, cloaked and shrouded against any curious eyes, as the sun was rising, and boarded Joeth’s boat quietly – a fact he no doubt noted keenly. With the sun low in a clear sky over the eastern mountains, Joreth poled off from the docks and set his sail to catch the dawn wind.

The boat ride was calm and uneventful, an easy sail on the deep blue waters of Lake Everbrite. The brilliant snow-capped peak of Mt. Ratonkül loomed ever larger ahead and to the left as it became another warm, brilliant fall day, with the sunlight reflecting brilliantly from the rippled waters.

“I can see why they call this Lake Everbrite,” Korwin commented idly as it grew on to mid-morning. “The light is quite dazzling…”

“Actually,” Mariala pointed out, “it was called Darl Lake for many centuries; but in the mid-26th Century it was renamed by Hain, the first king of Gostrial, in honor of his favorite daughter, Loryn the Everbrite.”

“And the light sparkles just the same on any body of water,” Devrik added dryly. “As I’m sure a water mage would know.”

Vulk snorted a laugh at that, while Korwin merely rolled his eyes and went back to admiring the view. Erol shook his head and sighed at the snarkiness of wizards…

♦ ♦ ♦

It was the middle of the third watch , just as the sun neared its zenith, when the group arrived on the stone docks of Kirak’s Anchorage, the bustling little port of the Khundari city of Dürkon. A dozen lake boats and barges lined the quays, loading up the ore and metal goods of Dürkon for the last trade journey of the year to the southern Umantrari kingdoms. Scores of Khundari and Umantari longshoremen swarmed the docks and ships in a dance of controlled chaos, amidst a cacophony of cursing sailors, screaming gulls, and pounding hammers. There were as many fishermen, all Umantari, bringing in the morning’s catch and adding to both the smells and boisterous energy of the area.

Paying off Joreth, and copping a feel while slipping him an extra crown to keep his eyes and ears alert for any interesting coming and goings, Vulk soon joined the others on the dock. Korwin had already begun asking after Trade Master Vorgev Greatcoffer, and was quickly directed to one of the nearby lake boats, in fact the largest and best equipped of those currently tied up, The Lake Goddess. A stout, business-like Khundari, sporting a black beard twined with colored cords in the pattern of a middle rank clan, was directing the loading and stowing of cargo from the foot of the gang plank. He looked up in surprise when Mariala was finally able to capture his attention. Initially annoyed at the interruption, he was quickly charmed by her  idiosyncratic Khundic, and smiled indulgently upon her, if not her companions, when he learned what she sought.

“I’m afraid Master Greatcoffer is not presently here, mistress,” he informed her, tucking his manifest temporarily under one arm and rocking back on his heels to look up at her. “He’s up in the Inner City, attending an official reception at the command of the Prince – one of the responsibilities of important men such as he, however much it might conflict with business. But it’s an honor of course, and the master has me to oversee the work… can I perhaps be of service to such a lovely lady in his stead?”

“I’m fearing my business is for hearing his ears alone, good sir, though I thank you for your much courtesy,” Mariala replied, flashing him a demure smile of her own. “But what of this official reception speaking you say? I am but newly present…”

“Ah yes, of course you’d not know, mistress, but an ambassador has only recently arrived from the Ocean Empire, a Khundari lord from the Imperial Princedom of Lakzhan they say, and Prince Rhoghûn will receive him before the Court this very noon… however many of his own folk wish he wouldn’t,” he added soto voce.  He then squinted up at the sun, and nodded. “In fact I expect the ceremony will begin quite soon –it’s almost noon now!”

With hasty thanks and assurances that she would see out Master Greatcoffer later in the day, Mariala and the others retreated towards the relative privacy of an alley between two warehouses. It was agreed they could waste no more time – although they didn’t know with certainty when the assassination was scheduled to occur, it was obvious that the most damning time, creating the most chaos and ill will, would be during the public ceremony. Vulk dug from his pack the Letter of Transit that Lekorm Darkeye had given him, granting the group free passage through the lands held by Dürkon and inviting them to an audience with the Prince, and they began to make their way to the city gates.

The road from the docks was straight and wide, a great stone-paved course, leading steadily uphill just over a kilometer to the sheer cliffs of the eastern foothills of Mt. Ratonkül. Ahead of them the snow-capped mountain loomed, and on either side clustered the homes and businesses of the Umantari subjects of the dwarven prince. The road ended in a great plaza at the foot of a sheer wall of granite that soared upward for over 200 meters, and a massive gate of stone and steel that guarded the entrance to the great underground city itself. Ten meters wide and 30 meters tall, at this hour the gates stood open with two Khundari warriors standing sentry. Each was fully armored in shining mail and plate, tall helms on their heads and lofty spears held firmly at rest.

As the Hand approached the gate both guards stepped forward and brought their spears down in unison to block their path.

“Who are you, Umantari, who seek to enter the Inner City of Prince Rhoghûn?” the shorter, and apparently senior, of the two barked as they came to a halt.

“We are friends of Lekorm Darkeye, Captain of the Shadow Guard,” Vulk replied in his best herald’s voice, stepping forward and offering their papers. “And invited guests of his Highness, Prince Rhoghûn.”

The guard commander looked briefly shocked, and for a moment Vulk thought he would refuse to take the proffered documents. But gathering his dignity the man frowned and reached to take them, snorting and harrumphing as he looked them over. His junior partner, looking considerably more impressed at the relationship they claimed with the head of his ruler’s personal guard, peered over his shoulder. After several minutes of examination, holding them up to the light, fingering the paper, and glaring suspiciously at each of the humans, the guard sergeant finally handed the papers back to Vulk.

“Well, they seem all in order,” he admitted, his tone implying otherwise. “But now is not a time for foreigners to be entering the city… a great ceremony is about to take place…”

“Yes, and it is that ceremony were are here to attend.” Vulk said in exasperation. “We were delayed in our travels, true, but are here in time, you must let us pass.”

The sergeant put up further arguments and excuses, to the increasing dismay of his partner, who finally coughed politely and touched his senior on the shoulder. “But Hargên, they have papers from the Shadow Commander himself, with his signature and seal. If you – we – keep them from something the Prince has invited them to attend…” he trailed off suggestively.

“The papers don’t say anything about the reception for the Imperial Envoy,” Hargên pointed out. “But fine Bhergan, I’ll not take it on myself to gainsay the orders of Darkeye.”

As everyone relaxed, prepared to continue on into the city, he added, “But I will also not let strangers into the city at such a time without specific orders from my own commander. You will wait here while I seek approval.”

Before anyone could react to this he whirled around and headed into the city, motioning for another guard in the shadows of the gate to take his place. The new guard threw a quizzical look at Bhergan, who looked rather embarrassed.

“I’m sorry about this,” he smiled apologetically at the human party, “I don’t know what’s gotten into the sergeant today. But I’m sure he’ll get it all straightened out in a few minutes… the Gate Commander is not far…”

But as the minutes crawled slowly past, and the sun rose ever closer to noon, it became increasingly obvious that Hargên would not be returning soon. It took very little effort on the part of Vulk to convince the remaining guard that he should let them pass. He didn’t even have to resort to using Abon’s Authority. The warrior was unwilling to desert his post, but more than happy to give them instructions to the audience chamber where the reception was, perhaps even now, taking place. With a wave of thanks the group hurried through the gate and entered the underground city of Dürkon.

The great plaza outside was mirrored by an identical one inside, from which various great halls lead off in eight directions. Immense lamps of bronze and crystal lit the passageways, and broad steps led either up or down. Taking the third passage on the right, as instructed, the Hand headed upward, making their way through the crowds of Khuindari going about their daily business. Many stared at the Umantari visitors with varying shades of curiosity or hostility, but most simply ignored them.

Lesser halls branched off, and great landings jutted out from some stairways, providing platforms from which, apparently, speeches could be made. One of these was being put to just such a use, and a great crowd of Khundari had gathered to listen to a grey-bearded fellow harangue and lecture them. As far as Mariala could make out, it was some anti-Imperial screed, with not a little Umantari-baiting thrown in. The crowd seemed about evenly divided in mocking or cheering the man’s pronouncements, but in either case rather restless. They were blocking the way, but Mariala assured the others that it would be best to go around, not through…

It took some meandering through a two-level shoping arcade/market square and some side passages, but eventually the group found themselves approaching the bronze gates of the Carnelian Reception Room. And who should they find there before them, but Guard Sergeant Hargên. The man was red in the face and blustering, in obvious argument with an ornately dressed older Khundari carrying a staff of office, who blocked his way.

“But I must get in, I have a vital message for Master Greatcoffer, it’s of the first importance –”

“I don’t care how important it is, sergeant,” the older man replied somewhat testily, “the ceremony is about to begin, and as Butler of the Chamber it is my responsibility, one of many, to see that no one interrupts it simply to carry messages that can wait for an hour. So, unless the city is under attack, leave me to my business, and go attend to your own… which I believe is at the Lake Gate, is it not?”

Before the enraged guard could argue further, Vulk stepped forward and addressed the court functionary himself.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but we are guests of the Captain of the Shadow Guard and of the Prince… I apoligize for our tardiness, but we were delayed at the city gates by certain… officious and overly zealous persons.” He stared pointedly at Hargên as he handed the Butler of the Chamber their papers. The man looked displeased to have yet more gate crashers to deal with, until he had scanned the documents and noted seal and signature. Then his countenance cleared and he made a small bow toward Vulk.

“I can’t imagine why you were so delayed, Cantor,” he sniffed, not even looking at the chagrined sergeant. “Your papers are entirely in order. If you hurry you might yet take your places before Ambassador Grimbold enters…” Even as he spoke he was turning to the bronze gates and lifting a key from the bunch hanging from his belt, unlocking them. With a flourish he waved the humans into the large room beyond, while blocking Hargên from following. The soldier gave a hiss of frustration and turned to stalk away.

“Across the banquet hall and down that corridor,” the Butler motioned them in the right direction. “Now excuse me, I have the final preparations for the feast to follow to oversee.” With that he bustled off to correct a menial who was placing a silver utensil on the wrong side of a plate…

But even as they hurried across the table-crowded room, they could see down the hall ahead the Imperial party leaving the vesting chamber where they had been preparing, and entering the audience chamber. By the time they reached the entrance to the Carnelian Reception Room, the Ambassador was already in the Speakers Circle before the dais where Prince Rhoghûn was seated, and making his formal greeting to the ruler. To either side of the Prince, along the back wall of the chamber and between the pillars that line it, were ranged eight Shadow Warriors of the Prince’s personal guard, two on the dais on either side of him, the others on the main floor. The Hand recognized some of the Shadow Guard from their earlier encounter, while others were new to them.

Just inside the Hall they were intercepted by Captain Darkeye, who was clearly surprised to see them, and somewhat confused at their presence at this particular moment. But even as Vulk began an urgent, whispered explanation, events began to spin out of control. As the Prince began his own greeting to Ambassador Grimbold, two of the Shadow Guard stepped forward from either side of the dais, raising their cross-bows, slamming bolts into place, and firing, all in one fluid motion. One of Grimbold’s bodyguards leapt forward, taking a bolt in the chest, while the Ambassador himself blocked the second bolt with his Staff of Office, his reflexes as sharp as ever.

Even as Lekorm was screaming orders to protect the Prince and drawing his own weapon and rushing forward to protect the Ambassador, the two Shadow Guards next to the Prince had leapt to his side, alert and tightly strung, shielding him from attack; in moments they had hustled him out the concealed door behind the throne. Vulk and Korwin scanned the suddenly roiled crowd for any sign of Arlun, the architect of this madness, while Devrik and Erol moved after Lekorm to engage the renegade Shadow Warrriors. These had dropped their cross-bows and drawn their ceremonial axes as they moved forward to attack the Imperial envoy and his party. Mariala began to summon the energies to cast her Fire Nerves spell.

But even as the fight swirled around them, and the panicked crowed tried to flee the room from the single entrance, Vulk and Korwin spotted one figure moving purposefully away from the crowd toward the western wall of the room. He wasn’t Arlun, to be sure, as he was clearly a Khundari, but for all they knew it might be his catspaw, Vorgev Greatcoffer. They moved to intercept him, struggling against the crowd, and yelled for the remaining Shadow Guards nearby to stop him. Whether he heard their calls, or simply found the man’s actions suspicious on his own, the Guard in the far left position dashed forward, even as the fleeing man reached the wall and activated a hidden door there.

Before he could enter the secret passage the mystery man found himself on the floor, the guard’s hands clutching at his clothes to gain a grip and pin him. In this the guard succeeded, and he felt something give – with a start that caused him to lose his grip he saw the man beneath him suddenly change from Khundari to Umantari, and found himself holding a bone-carved amulet of some sort, on a leather thong. Before he could regain a hold on his prisoner, however, a movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head just in time to avoid the full impact of a savage blow from behind. Stars flared behind his eyes, and darkness swallowed him for a moment.

As they fought through the crowd Vulk and Korwin had seen the supposed Kundari shift into the known and despised form of Arlun Parek. As his accomplice, yet another of the Shadow Guard, helped him to his feet and toward the secret passage, Vulk called out to Devrik and the others. “It’s Arlun! We can’t let him escape!”

But already their nemesis was gone, the hidden door swinging shut behind him, and Vulk knew it would take time to find the trigger mechanism, time Parek would surely use to good advantage. Even as he broke free of the crowd  the door was almost closed – and then the stunned guard was on his knees and sliding his dagger across the floor into the narrow opening, wedging the door open!

As Devrik and the others hurried towards Vulk and Korwin, the other Shadow renegades being subdued and in Lekorm’s custody. Unable to pursue himself, the Shadow Guard commander called out to his man, “They’re friends, Toran! Go with them, help them, we need that man alive if possible – but kill him if there’s any chance he’ll escape the City!”

Vulk and Korwin had pulled the dazed Khundari to his feet by this time, and the man saluted his commander before turning to pry open the secret door with a grunt. As the rest of the group arrived he plunged through the doorway, calling out “Follow me!”

They did, and found themselves in a short, narrow hallway that led to a steep, narrow flight of stairs that plunged down into darkness. Toran pulled a cloudy crystal from his belt and muttered a word, and the stone was soon giving off a mild, warm light. Bringing up the rear, Devrik muttered a few words of his own and caused a small flame to appear in his palm, providing more warm light. Vulk stared at his friend in surprise, never having seen him so easily and casually wield flame before; but there was no time to comment. Between the two lights, the group was able to see as they began the winding descent of the stairs, which turned every seven meters or so, spiraling into the depths of the city.

After twenty minutes or more of headlong flight downward, the stairs came to an end in another corridor running south, at the end of which was a stone door. Pushing it cautiously open, the group found themselves in what appeared to be a mine, complete with tracks for ore carts. Reading the runic script carved in a nearby support beam, Toran recognized the area.

“It’s one of the older, upper mine levels, the Third Deep,”he explained quietly to his companions. “It’s been played out of the valuable minerals for many years now, and is seldom used except as access to the lower, more productive levels.”

He affixed his glowstone to the metal band around his helmet, drew his battleaxe, and motioned the others forward silently. Drawing their own weapons, the group followed him across the tracks and under the arch of an opening into another, larger chamber. The caution was well advised – as the last person entered the chamber two armed men, City Watch by their armor and weapons, leapt to the attack. The battle was short and sharp, but even as the last attacker was subdued the third renegade Shadow Warrior appeared from the shadows and the fight was renewed. He was good, to be sure, and fought hard, but in the end he was no match for the fighters of the Hand of Fortune.

Examining the fallen fighters, Vulk noticed something odd, and called for more light. This revealed a gray-green mass of plant matter at the base of the neck of each man, with thin tendrils penetrating the skin over the spine.

“This must be how Arlun was controlling these men,” Mariala exclaimed, and the others agreed.

Toran seemed relieved to realize his comrades hadn’t been suborned, but only mind-controlled. Unfortunately, when they pried the plant mass off one of  the City watchmen, the man suddenly convulsed uncontrollably, and was dead in less than a minute, to the shock and consternation of all. They all knew time pressed, but they couldn’t leave these men behind still mind-controlled, and they couldn’t kill them.

“Let me try something,” Devrik growled suddenly, and he leaned forward over the neck of the second watchman, bringing the flame in his hand to the plant mass. He muttered another word and the flame flared suddenly white and hot, turning the vegetable matter to ash, and scorching a patch of the man’s skin, but leaving him breathing, if still unconscious. Vulk was soon able to rouse him, however, and though confused and sick, the man seemed essentially unharmed. Devrik quickly applied the treatment to the ensorcelled Shadow Warrior, who recovered his wits much quicker.

Anxious to be off after Arlun, the group explained all to the the warrior, and sent him back with the watchman to find Lekorm and pass on the method for freeing the other victims of Arlun’s mind control. Hopefully they hadn’t yet tried to remove the plants…

Toran was able to pick up their prey’s trail, and the group followed him through the mines to a narrow side passage off a main line, one partially obscured by rubble. At the end of this close, narrow tunnel, they came on a breakout into a corridor of ancient finished stone… clearly Arlun, or someone, had excavated this passage either into or out of some very old finished section of the city. Although Toran was puzzled as to what it could be at this level…

He didn’t have long to ponder the question, for as he stepped cautiously into the corridor, which stretched both left and right, he heard a sudden intake of breathe and a muttered curse to his right. As he turned he saw Arlun Parek framed in a doorway, perhaps 5 meters away, a leather pack slung over one shoulder. Even as their eyes met the mage was raising both hands and muttering under his breath – Toran leaped backward into the tunnel, shoving Erol and Vulk down as he did. The fire ball filled the corridor and the intense heat washed over the prone figures in the tunnel, forcing the others to stagger back as well. Almost immediately there was the “whoosh” of a second fireball, but no flame or heat.

Dazed and singed, it took a moment for everyone to pull themselves together enough to peer out of the tunnel… the stone walls of the corridor beyond were black with scorch marks, and heat still radiated from the walls, but of Arlun there was no sign. The group cautiously approached the now-closed door where Toran had last seen him, and Devrik pushed it open with a booted foot… a rush of superheated air gushed out, nearly singeing him. As the heat abated, he peered into the smoldering remains of what looked to have recently been a modest bedroom/study. Clearly the Vortex mage had wanted to leave no evidence behind!

Turning back down the corridor, the group went quickly but warily in the only direction their enemy could have taken. A turn of the corridor brought them to the first of several flights of crumbling stairs going down; after another 45° bend they could see, past yet more steep, crumbling stairs, a ruddy glow on the dark stone walls and floor. Several dozen more meters of descent brought them at last to a long, level corridor, at the end of which was a doorway through which an orange light poured.

With Devrik in the lead now, ready to defend the group with a pyrokinetic shield should it be necessary, they entered a large natural cavern of irregular shape. They stood on a platform 5 meters deep and 10 meters wide, in the southeast corner of the cavern, and from the left side of the platform a peninsula jutted out towards the center of the space, narrowing to just 3 meters. Arlun stood at the end of this tongue of stone, between two intricately carved pillars of basalt, and smiled at them as a wall of spectral flame rose up, cutting them off from him.

But the aspect of the room that caught the attention, more so even than their enemy, was the roiling lake of lava that surged and bubbled perhaps 5 meters below the platform, filling the cavern from side to side. A great cascade of molten rock poured into the lake from a vent maybe six meters up the northwest wall, like a viscous, yellow-red waterfall. The heat was tremendous, and a low, almost subsonic roar filled the air around them. If Arlun spoke, they didn’t hear him, but his hand moved in a sharp gesture, and another wall of ethereal flame sprang up behind the group, blocking their exit from the chamber.

“You have been a thorn in our side for many months now,” he called from his perch above the churning lava. “Particularly for me – you have made me look bad, and for that you are now going to pay!”

With that he began a low chant, raising his arms toward the roof of the cavern. There came a sudden shift in the background rumble. A shimmering vortex of energy, almost invisible in the already wavering superheated air of the cavern, began to swirl over the lava pool. A form began to take shape there…

“Dear gods,” Devrik shouted, aghast. “He’s summoning a Lava Elemental!”

He began to prepare the only spell he could think of, a Dispel, despite the unlikelihood of it succeeding. Behind and beside him, the others who could do so began their own preparations – Vulk his holy armor, Mariala her Fire Nerves spell, and Korwin a spell of freezing… and Erol focused desperately on invoking his talent for amplifying the results of arcane energies around him.

Suddenly there was another change in the thrumming of the air in the chamber – it ratcheted up to a high-piched whine for a moment, and then seemed to implode in a great “whomp” that was more felt than heard. In that instant the vaguely humanoid shape forming in the lava suddenly lost its form, collapsing into itself in a whirpool of molten rock. Arlun staggered on his stony perch, and turned to stare in shock as his summoning disintegrated. But his shock quickly turned to fear as the maelstrom of lava, instead of tamping down, grew ever larger and deeper.

A wind sprang up in the cavern, blowing toward the expanding maw of elemental energy, whipping the clothes of those on the stone platform about them, and staggering the lighter figures. Arlun, much closer to the vortex, grasped at one of the pillars next to him, but the stone was smooth and worn with age – despite the carvings he could gain no purchase, and began sliding toward the edge of the stone pier, his robes and cloak snapping out ahead of him like the pennants on a ship in a gale. He fell to his knees, scrabbling at the paving stones, but here again he could find no hold. Suddenly, with a shriek of combined fury and despair, he was pulled into the air and plunged down into the heart of the maelstrom.

In an instant he was gone, and in a blinding flash the swirling whirlpool collapsed in on itself, sending a great gout of molten stone straight up to splash against the cavern’s ceiling. With Arlun no longer there to sustain them, the walls of ethereal fire had vanished, and the Hand beat a hasty retreat from the cavern as gobbets of liquid rock began to rain down around them.

Once safe in the relative coolness of the long stone corridor, they turned to one another in amazement and relief, and began to talk all at once.

“What the Void just happened?!”

“Is he dead, or did he escape again?”

“Did you see his face? Hear that scream?”

“Was that you, Devrik?”

“What happened?!”

Erol’s voice cut through the babble after a moment.

“I think it might have been me, actually.” They all turned to stare at the former gladiator. He shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. “I was trying to summon up my ability to boost your spells, you see… and I’m learning to tell when it works, I get this sort of… shock, or thrill, under my breastbone… and I sure felt it this time! I’m not sure, but I think that it affected Arlun’s spell… none of your spells could have been active yet, right?”

Mariala and Devrik laughed in sudden understanding, as did Korwin after a moment’s chagrin. They explained to the others the process of summoning or creating an elemental creature, and how it opened a pin-prick into another dimension, through which was summoned an intelligence to animate matter in this world. When Erol’s ability suddenly increased the power of Arlun’s spell, it ripped open a much large portal into the elemental plane, and rather than bringing something here, it sucked him from here to there… whether or not the mage could have survived the journey was uncertain, but it seemed unlikely.

With Arlun beyond the reach of any mortal justice, the group went back to the torched room that seemed to have been his quarters when he was in the City, to see if anything could be salvaged. After an hour of sifting through the charred remains of desk, shelves and bed, they found only a handful of items… in a scorched box of ivory, three pieces of jewelry: a silver ring set with a carved onyx stone, surrounded by four faceted black crystals, a broach of silver adorned with 5 cut amethyst, and a jade pendant carved in the shape of a cat’s head, in the style of Azdankür, hung from a silver chain; on the floor behind the remains of the desk, a brass ring, etched in an interlocking Torkel pattern, and a leather pouch containing two ivory earrings, each set with a single carnelian stone, in the style of the southern Ukalis kingdoms.

But the most important find might have been the three documents to survive the conflagration. Two were found together, at the center of a large folio of papers, and were only lightly singed around the edges – they appeared to be spell descriptions of the Yalva convocation, and Devrik took to them hungrily. The last document was found tucked into the charred remains of a notebook… more heavily damaged than the spell treatises, it was nonetheless readable, and proved to be a transaction record for the sale of 100 broadswords and 100 cross-bows, made by a Dürkonian weapon smith, brokered by one Vergov Greatcoffer, and shipped south to Kar Lakona two months earlier.

“But it is illegal to sell cross-bows to the Umantari!” Toran declared when had scanned the paper. “And Kar Lakona is the Republic’s fortress on the shores of Lake Everbrite, their trading hub with us…This must be reported to the Prince at once!”

“Yes,” Vulk agreed. “I think there’s going to be a great deal of housecleaning in Dürkon this autumn. I wonder if they managed to take Arlun’s agent, this Greatcoffer, alive? We’d better get back to City and fill the authorities in on what we’ve found…”

After much discussion about the significance of Mariala’s discovery, and what their next course of action should be, the Hand of Fortune decided this opportunity was too great to pass up. It was decided they would infiltrate the Kalosian holy site of Nah-henu before the scheduled meeting, in the hopes of spying out some of the important Vortex members as they arrived. Devrik pointed out that walking into the middle of a meeting of what had to be some pretty friggin’ powerful members of this mysterious organization was perhaps not the best plan, but when the others insisted it was simply a reconnaissance mission to gather intelligence, not an ambush, he shrugged and agreed.

After setting the now-abandoned cabin to rights, out of respect for the old hermit so ruthlessly murdered, the companions headed back to Dor Areson to prepare for the journey. Being a stop on the Pilgrim’s Road to Nah-henu, there was no trouble in finding vendors to sell them the accoutrement they needed – bits of yellow clothing for some, yellow armbands for others, and various amulets carried by the devout worshipper of Kalos. Vulk doffed all signs of his own religious affiliation, packing his vestments at the bottom of his saddle bags – and sending up a brief prayer to Kasira asking understanding and forgiveness.

Thankfully, the decentralized, even fractured, nature of the Cult of Kalos made impersonating pilgrims a relatively easy and safe gambit. Vulk, drawing on his comparative theology studies, schooled his companions on the broad outlines of Kalosian philosophy and worship, and more specifically on what he knew of the Order of the Ochre Hand, the monastic brotherhood who oversaw the shrine at Nah-henu and catered to the pilgrims who came to see, and sometimes enter, the holy place. Everyone, of course, was familiar with the ochre-glazed pottery, with it’s black interlocking geometric and serpentine motifs, that the monastery was famous for, if somewhat less knowledgeable about its theology.

They also knew that the Mad God’s creations, the often-monsterous kalovai, were said to enter the world from Nah-henu. But really disturbing to the group was the news that, while most pilgrims contented themselves with viewing the fabled tower and praying at the cave-shrine, the pilgrims who elected to enter the Triple Labyrinth did so in the hope that their souls would be taken up by the deity and used in his creations,  reincarnating them as kalovai. And about two-thirds of those entering the mazes never returned, presumably because their prayers were answered.

“Those don’t seem like great odds,” Mariala said nervously, as they rode down the trail into the wilderness south of Areson. “And we’re going in there?”

“If the Vortexians are using the place as a cover for their meetings, then it can’t be all that dangerous,” Korwin assured her loftily. “Most Kalosians are simple peasants… if the Labyrinth is merely dangerous due to traps or kalovai, it’s hardly surprising they would have a difficult time of it; but we are made of nobler stuff, eh? And if they vanish, instead, because they truly are considered worthy by their god, that’s even better – I doubt such as we are in any danger of qualifying, in the eyes of the Mad God, to be reborn as kalovai.”

Vulk thought there was a flaw in this argument, somewhere. But the decision had been made, so he said nothing, and they rode on in silence…

♦ ♦ ♦

The sun was setting in a brilliant display of reds and golds when the party crested the last hill and began their decent into the valley of the Yellow River. They crossed the broad ford of the river just as the last of the sun dipped below the western hills, leaving them in a rich gloaming shadow, with only the  ice covered peaks of Mt. Bowin to the south still bathed in a supernally beautiful glow of rose and gold. They rode up the west bank and soon found themselves in the large courtyard of the Monastery of the Ochre Hand, where a black-robed monk and several orange-clad acolytes met them.

After the ritual greeting (and the gifting of the customary tithe), the horses were led off to the large stables, and the companions were guided to one of the guest houses the monks maintained for pilgrims.

“You have arrived in good time,” the elderly, balding monk said as he escorted them to the large room they would be sharing. “We are beginning to fill up, as the faithful arrive for the High Holy Day… both moons full, on the night of the Höl Kopia! A rare and auspicious event, and we expect to be overflowing with pilgrims by tomorrow evening!”

Once settled into their clean but spartan room the group quietly discussed the plan for the next day until the bell rang for the evening meal. In the Guest Refectory they ate with over a score of other (presumably more sincere) pilgrims, and pursued a campaign of subtle questioning and misdirection. The latter was primarily supplied by Devrik, who dropped hints that might be construed as his scouting out new kalovai for the Taruthani Games in the Republic, on the theory that this might provide an explanation if their non-Kalosian status was discovered. Their fellow guests all seemed to be what they purported to be, with no sign of possible Vortex infiltrators.

The group decided to retire back to their room, once the Kalos’ Crook was bought out, thinking it best to avoid  the festival atmosphere that began to pervade the refectory as the drinking began. They were all quite certain that they’d need all their strength and wits for the morning, when they would enter the Triple Labyrinth…

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning dawned gray and misty. After an austere breakfast in the refectory the group began the eight kilometer walk to Nah-henu. Several other groups of pilgrims were ahead of and behind them, all quiet and respectful as they wound their way along the well-worn path up into the western hills of the river valley, toward the tongue of headland that jutted out into Lake Everbrite. The vegetation grew more sparse as the hills rose, until they were walking through a rugged heathland of pale violet heather and black stones. Eventually they came around a small shoulder of higher land and saw before them at last the famed Ebon Tower of Nah-henu.

Less than a kilometer ahead of them rose a sheer cliff of gray stone, stretching from one side of the peninsula to the other, with more rugged heath running on north from the cliff top. It was as if some massive upheaval had lifted the northern part of the peninsula more than 100 meters up, shearing it from the rest of the land in one clean stroke. Their path led down to the foot of the cliff, and a tall but narrow opening into wall, with great pillars of basalt carved on either side of it, and a massive black lintel carved above. But what drew the eye and caused everyone to stop and stare, was the great black tower that rose atop the cliff, soaring high into the sky.

It was an eight-sided spire of black basalt, appearing to be as smooth and seamless as if it had been carved from a single block, and it rose more than 200 meters above the top of the cliff. It narrowed as it leapt upward, and this morning the five unevenly layered pinnacles that gave its top a jagged, broken look were wreathed in the white mists of the lowering clouds. No door, nor any window, could be seen in all that expanse of shiny black stone, and a sense of foreboding settled over the group as they began to move down the path again.

The subtle feeling of gloom and oppression increased as they approached the cave mouth, the entrance to the Shrine of Nah-henu, and it didn’t seem to be limited to the Hand of Fortune… the other pilgrims appeared also to be overcome with a sense of disquiet… or perhaps it was religious awe.

“It’s the nature of this place,” Vulk assured his friends quietly, shaking off the feeling. “It’s well known that Kalos has sealed the Nitaran vortex here, and that certain magics will not work within sight of the tower – flying, for instance. No doubt this feeling of disquiet is a result of these suppressions, nothing more.”

With that encouragement they entered the dark portal of the shrine, which was much wider than it had appeared from a distance – 10 meters wide, and some 30 meters high. They stepped past two silent, stone-faced guards with tall spears, into a vast and impressive space. The Shrine may have begun as a natural cavern, but over the centuries the priests of the God had shaped it and expanded it, and now it was a rectangle, 45 meters wide and 30 meters deep; the ceiling was an intricate series of arches, carved in basalt and looking like the ribs of some leviathan, and soared 40 meters above them, into impenetrable shadows.

The floor of the Shrine was covered in ochre tiles in which appeared to be imbedded the bones and skulls of a thousand different creatures – some human, some very clearly not – and no two tiles appeared to be the same. Along the walls jutted out of a series of triangular piers, maybe 1.5 meters deep and spaced two meters apart, lined, as were the walls between, with panels of basalt, inlaid with intricate Kalosian patterns in obsidian, onyx and jet. Each pier rose into the shadows above, but from the floor to a height of three meters the two sides of each pier were faced with panels of what appeared to be amber, within which were encased the skeletal remains of a myriad of creatures. The only light in the Shrine, aside from the gray daylight the entrance allowed in, was an amber glow from deep within these panels. In the center of the space a massive column of basalt and bone-riddled amber, like a 16-pointed star, rose into the darkness above, giving the impression that it might actually reach the base of the great tower above.

At the four corners of the Shrine were alcoves where yellow-robed priests counseled supplicants who wished guidance in their prayers, and along the back wall, beyond the central pillar, were five archways. Two were small, intimate spaces for private prayer, apparently, but three were large and intricately carved, and over these were symbols, the only colors other than black, ochre and amber in the place. The first, on their right, was the Aranda Gate, over which was an image of the blue moon, set against a field of silver stars; in the center was the Zira Gate, and a golden image of the sun on a field of brilliant blue; and lastly, on the left, was the Osal Gate, with an image of the rose moon set in flat black.

As they stood gazing at the Gates something moved in the dimness beyond the Osal Gate, and suddenly a hulking Northern Hill Troll lumbered out of it and into the Shrine. The score or more of pilgrims scattered about the chamber froze in a mixture of fear and religious awe, and the priests quietly began to shepherd them out of the path of the confused-seeming kalovai as it moved toward the daylight beyond the great entrance.

But one of the orange-clad acolytes, perhaps too new to his calling and not yet fully trained, stood gaping at his god’s creation. As the creature moved past him he cried out in apparent religious ecstasy, his arms stretched toward the stone-skinned behemoth. The beast barely turned it’s head toward the man, but it lashed out suddenly with one massive arm. The acolyte sailed through the air and slammed into the wall with a sickening thump and a sharp crack. His body slid to the floor and lay with head and both legs twisted at angles impossible for a living human to achieve.

As the troll passed out of the Shrine’s entrance and into its first morning, several priests rushed forward to take up the body of the fallen acolyte, while others gathered the now-murmuring pilgrims into small groups and began reciting passages of scripture, explaining the nature of the God’s creations and why they may not be molested by anyone while within sight of the Ebon Tower.

“Such is the fate we accept who guard the Gates of the Triple Labyrinth,” a dolorous voice behind the group intoned, startling them out of their shocked contemplation of sudden death.

They turned to see one of the priests of Kalos, a tall, thin man with a long, cadaverous face in which deep set eyes reflected the amber light. His long black hair was pulled back and bound with a golden ring, and his hands were tucked serenely into the sleeves of his yellow robe. He stood silently, and after a moment Vulk realized he was waiting for a ritual response. Vulk had made sure to confirm his memory of the correct phrasing the night before, with one of the monks, and now he cleared his throat before speaking it.

“We seek our own fates, brother – to pass these Gates, that we might test our mettle in the God’s crucible, and be reborn as one of His favored Children.”

If the priest seemed surprised that five people wished to enter the Labyrinth as a group, he didn’t show it; perhaps it wasn’t that uncommon of a request. He simply bowed slightly and then looked each of them in the eye for a long moment, as if reading their thoughts. Mariala tensed, but sensed no mental probe… if he was trying to read them, it wasn’t by magical means. At last he turned back to Vulk.

“Which path to the God do you choose, pilgrim?”

“We choose the path of the Blue Moon, the Aranda Gate, holy one,” Vulk replied, bowing respectfully in turn.

Without another word the priest moved past them toward the back wall, and after a moment they followed him. When they reached the Aranda Gate he stood to one side and again bowed toward them, this time a deeper bow, longer held. He watched with a stoic expression as the group filed past him, under the arch, passing into amber dimness. As Vulk passed the priest the man leaned forward and spoke sotto voce.

“Do try to stay together, brother,” was all he said, and Vulk thought he caught just a flicker of a smile on that haughty face. But perhaps it was just the dim light…

♦ ♦ ♦

The passage beyond the carved gate was lined with inlaid basalt, like the Shine itself, and was perhaps three meters wide; but it seemed narrower due to the triangular piers of amber-covered panels that jutted from the walls on either side – like the teeth of opposing saw blades, with us between them, Mariala thought uncomfortably. The ceiling was vaulted in arching ribs of black basalt, some five meters high.

Once into the corridor Korwin took the lead, with Vulk following him, Mariala in the middle, Devrik behind and Erol bringing up the rear. The passage slopped gently downward for perhaps 15 meters, then ended in a wall of old gray stone, pierced by a wide doorway. Beyond the doorway stretched a new corridor, three meters wide and tall, made of great blocks of weathered gray stone, and flagged in yellowish, well-worn stone. This continued on into darkness as the amber light faded behind them, but just as it seemed they must light a torch to go on, a faint blue light could be seen ahead.

As they advanced the blue light grew until they stood before a carved gateway, a replica in miniature of the Aranda Gate in the shrine above, save that there was no image etched above it. The illumination came from a shimmering curtain of light that filled the doorway, rippling like the play of the Greater Moon on a wind-touched pool of water. Beyond the translucent, shifting barrier could be seen either a narrow chamber or the continuation of the corridor.

“Why do I suddenly feel quite certain that the other side of this doorway is not really just three strides from this side?” Korwin mused quietly.

“Some do say that the Triple Labyrinth is actually in another dimension,” Vulk agreed. “But true or not, it’s where we need to go. I suggest, however, that we go in pairs, ahead and behind, with Mariala in the middle, and keep a hand on one another – I don’t want to risk getting separated.”

The others agreed with this plan, and so it was that the Hand of Fortune enter the Labyrinth of the Mad God for the first time. As they each passed through the shimmering curtain of moonlight there was a brief tingle, but no more, and then they stood in a corridor much like the one they had left, if not quite identical. The stonework of the walls appeared far more ancient, narrow slabs of rock fitted so tightly together that they needed no mortar, and the floor was of slate, blurred by drifts of dust and dirt.

Everything was illuminated by a blue light, exactly like the light of the full Greater Moon, except that this light seems to come from everywhere or from nowhere. No one cast a shadow on either floor nor walls, although they could see for perhaps six meters. The air was cool, yet somehow stuffy and oppressive, and the silence was thick – any sound they made seemed to be absorbed by the very air before it could echo off the walls.

After brief discussion, Korwin led the way down the wider corridor they stood in, rather than take the narrower one to the left. But after only ten meters the  passage bent left, then left again, and they were headed back in the direction from which they had come. It wasn’t long before they had all lost any sense of direction, and even Kowin’s vaunted eidetic memory seemed muddled and confused by the oppressive atmosphere.

The way twisted and turned, sometimes in sharp, 90° turns, other times in sweeping arcs, and occasionally would open into larger rooms or narrow into passages so tight that one person could barely squeeze by. Often they met with dead ends, and were forced to retrace their steps. It was during one of these detours that Erol noticed that their footprints on the dusty floors seemed to vanish after they passed. Devrik began to wish he’d brought bread crumbs, although he suspected they, too, would have vanished behind them.

It was hard to keep any sense of time, and Mariala was uncertain how long they had been navigating the maze, when they finally came upon something other than blue-lit stone and dust. They had previously passed a couple of  half-moon shaped alcoves recessed into various walls, each one about half-a-meter wide, a meter tall, and a meter-and-a-half off the floor. In the base of each alcove had been a shallow concave indentation, but nothing else. This time was different.

This alcove contained a crystal sphere, the size of a small melon, that glowed with the the brilliant golden light on the noon-day sun. After some discussion and a close examination of the globe and its alcove, Mariala reached out to take it. Despite its warm glow the sphere was cool to the touch, and perfectly smooth. When nothing happened, she placed the sphere into her scrip, and the  group continued it’s way through the maze.

It wasn’t too long after, as far as any of them could tell in the confusing, timeless atmosphere through which they moved, that they found another sphere, in another alcove. This globe, however, glowed with a soft rose-tinted light, as if from the full Lesser Moon. Korwin took up this orb, and again the procession continued winding through the blue-tinted corridors.

Some time later they turned a corner and found themselves in a short passage that lead into a circular room perhaps seven meters in diameter. Korwin was in the lead, and had taken only three strides into the domed chamber, when he simply vanished. With a startled huff of warning to Mariala behind him, Vulk pulled up short just as he himself crossed the threshold. Devrik and Erol quickly crowed close, and the four friends stared into the empty room.

“Great,” muttered Devrik. “Either he’s been disintegrated or he’s been teleported, and whichever it is, we’re in trouble.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t disintegrated,” Vulk absently assured his friends. “I was looking right at him, and he just vanished, like a soap bubble… no residue, no flash of energy… no, I think he’s been teleported. The question is, to where?”

“And should we try to follow him?” Mariala added.

“That odd Kalosian priest did tell me that we should try to stay together,” Vulk admitted. “I wonder if this is what he meant…?”

Erol snorted at the description of the priest. “An odd Kalosian – that’s redundant if ever I’ve heard it.”

The group quickly decided that it was best to try and follow Korwin, and hope they were taken to where he was and not some other random location. Bunching closely together, they stepped into the center of the room… and nothing seemed to happen. They were staring at the same arc of blue-lit stone as before, apparently, and had felt nothing like the gut-wrenching vertigo of stepping through a Nitarin vortex.

“Ah, there you are,” said a voice behind them, and they whirled as one, weapons coming out before they quite realized it was Korwin standing behind them. He was in the short corridor from which they had entered the room, and for a moment they all thought he’d simply been teleported behind them. But then the details began to sink in, and they realized it was not the same corridor at all – clearly the two ends of the teleport circuit were identical rooms.

After exiting the room and re-entering it, to no effect, they decided they had no choice but to continue on from where they were. But as they moved down the corridor toward the narrow exit, they found themselves slowing down, as if an invisible hand pushed back at them, sapping their will. A statue to the left of the archway seemed to be the source of the mental wall, a statue of a tall figure in a hooded robe from which two yellow eyes seemed to glow.

Each member of the party strove to push forward through the invisible resistance, focusing on reaching that doorway… and one by one each felt the pop, as of a bubble bursting, as they stepped past the statue. It took some longer than others, and several tries, but eventually the entire party was beyond the barrier, and they were able to resume their wandering through the pale blue-lit halls of the maze.

It was only a short time later, after just a few dead ends, that the party found itself in a square chamber, some seven meters across. The far wall of the room contained two alcoves, side-by-side, and in one of the alcoves was another yellow sun-orb. The other alcove was empty.

After some discussion and debate, it was decided they would try placing the rose-orb they carried into the empty alcove, which Mariala promptly did. Both orbs flashed briefly, and there was a distant rumble as of stone against stone. It faded away after a few seconds, and in the strangely muted atmosphere of the labyrinth it was hard to tell exactly where it had come from.

When no visible manifestation became apparent, Mariala reached out and lifted out the rose orb from its niche. Again the muted rumble of stone-on-stone, its origin still indeterminate.

“I feel like it was coming from behind us,” Mariala said, frowning. “And to the left, out that doorway. I think someone should step out in that direction while I try this again, to see if we can get a better idea of what’s happening…”

Devrik had already wandered in that direction, so Erol nodded to Mariala and followed after him. The two warriors stood in the dusty hallway, next to another empty alcove, and waited. A moment later they saw a brief flash of intense yellow light, and the silence of the maze suddenly seemed more profound.

“Mariala?” Devrik called out as he rushed back into the chamber, Erol on his heels. They both stopped short at the sight of the empty room. Of their friends there was no sign, and only one alcove held a sphere, apparently the golden one that they had found there originally. A quick search out the other doors of the room found no trace of their missing comrades.

“Well shit,” said Devrik, sheathing his sword. “What now?”

♦ ♦ ♦

While Erol and Devrik pondered their next move, Mariala, Vulk and Korwin were doing the same… elsewhere.

Once the fighters had stepped out of the room, Mariala had been preparing to place the Osal-orb back in the empty alcove when Vulk suggested they try the other sun-orb, instead. When no one objected, Korwin took out the golden sphere he had been carrying and set it into the waiting indentation of the empty alcove – and a flash of brilliant yellow light momentarily blinded the three. When they could see again, they were most certainly not where they had been.

The room they now occupied was not dissimilar to the one they had left – somewhat longer and with different exits, but with two alcoves, one of which contained a sun-orb, presumably the one Korwin had placed. But if the architecture appeared the same, the light most certainly was not. Instead of the pale blue light of a full Greater Moon, this area was suffused with a rich golden light, like that of a late summer afternoon, although it, too, seemed to come from nowhere in particular, or perhaps everywhere at once.

It took only a moment, once the initial shock wore off, to determine that their companions who had been outside the room had not been transported with them.

“Damn,” Vulk muttered as he paced the length of the room. “This is just what we were trying to avoid!”

“Where do you think we are?” Mariala asked, looking worried herself.

“I’d guess we’re still in the Triple Labrynth,” Korwin replied, his usual cool demeanor apparently unshaken by this separation. “But we’ve been taken to the section that lies beyond the Zira Gate, it seems most likely to me…”

“So,” Mariala said thoughtfully, “using orbs of two different colors does – well, we still don’t know what. And using two of the same color transports those in the room to the corresponding section of the maze.”

The others could find no fault with this reasoning, nor with her further conclusion that placing two blue spheres in the dual alcoves should return them to the Aranda maze, if not to the  precise point of their departure.

“That seems logical,” Korwin agreed. “But we haven’t actually seen any blue spheres… their existence is purely hypothetical at this point.”

“But they can be logically inferred,” Vulk countered. “Although I admit logic isn’t necessarily a given when dealing with the Mad – er, with Kalos.”

There followed a brief discussion about the advisability of searching this area of the Labyrinth for blue orbs, or waiting for their lost companions to find a second sun-orb and hopefully join them. With a sudden exclamation of equal parts annoyance and inspiration, Marial began digging in her scrip.

“My parchment,” she explained to the men. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it immediately. We may be able to contact the others, assuming my magic works in this place!”

“And assuming they think to look at their paper,” Vulk added, although he looked suddenly hopeful.

Mariala quickly took out a slip of her enchanted parchment, the one entangled with a slip Devrik carried, as well as a pen and small bottle of ink. She concentrated on conveying as much information on what they had deduced in as few words as possible. Then they could only wait, staring at the blank section of the paper, hoping for a reply…

♦ ♦ ♦

Back in the Aranda maze, Erol & Devrik had emptied out their own packs to inventory the resources available to them, and it was because of this that Devrik noticed the sudden appearance of Mariala’s handwriting on the slip of parchment he carried in his belt pouch.

“Of course,” he rumbled, with as much of a smile as he ever got, “should’ve thought of that myself!”

Once they understood what had happened, Erol suggested they use the rope they had to navigate as much of the maze as they could, looking for another Zira-orb; Devrik then conveyed their plan to Mariala using his own pen and ink.

With only 20 meters of rope, they had to move carefully, but they soon retraced their steps to the teleport chamber, and this time when they entered the room they found themselves transported back to the original room. From there it took some time and effort, but they eventually found another alcove containing a sun-sphere, and were able to make their way back to the circular teleport room.

This time, when they had been transported to the second room, they found it somewhat easier to force their way past the invisible barrier of the guardian statue. In a few minutes that had returned to the dual-alcove chamber, and were prepared to test their theory of how things worked in the mazes of Kalos. Devrik gently placed the second golden orb into the empty niche…

♦ ♦ ♦

There was no brilliant flash of yellow light on the other end of the “circuit” – to Mariala, Vulk and Korwin it seemed that their missing companions were simply there, standing before the alcoves, one of which now contained a Zira-orb. It was with great relief that the friends greeted one another, and compared notes. They all agreed they needed to be more careful with the potential pitfalls of sudden teleportation…

Their complement of crystal orbs now consisted of two golden Zira-orbs and one rose-tineted Osal-orb. It was agreed that they should be on the lookout for blue orbs, as this might very well play into the mysterious ‘Tripartite Light” they were looking for. They once agin ordered themselves into their exploration line, with Korwin in the lead, and began to puzzle out the Zira maze.

It was hard to be certain how long they had been moving (time, thought and memory seemed as fuzzy here as in the Aranda maze), but they eventually rounded a corner, only to be confronted by a hulking Northern Hill Troll several yards ahead, this one armed with a great mallet of wood and iron. Like the one they had seen in the Shrine, this troll seemed uninterested in them, even as they backed away from it.

It strode along, it’s loping gait long and easy, and they retreated before it, warily. They soon found themselves at a gate, much like the one they had entered the Aranda maze through – but this portal was covered in a shimmering curtain of yellow sunlight. The hill troll continued toward them, and the group was forced down a side passage, only to see the kalovai turn at the gate and, without hesitation, plunge through it. It’s bulk was quickly lost beyond the wall of golden light.

At this point there was some discussion of exiting the maze, as the troll had done, and reentering the Aranda Gate again. But they soon realized that it was likely they would not be allowed to do so by the priests – if they exited the Triple Labyrinth by any gate they would be seen has having failed the God’s test…

As they continued to wend their way through the Zira maze, they did indeed discover alcoves containing blue Aranda-orbs, as well as ones with the rosy Osal-orbs; but none containing Zira-orbs.

“Each maze must contain spheres of the other two mazes’ colors,” Korwin concluded, “but none of its own.”

No one disagreed, and now they had two of each orb color, enough to travel to whichever section of the Labyrinth they wished, once they found another dual-alcove chamber. But before they could do so, they stumbled across another of the Mad God’s creations, this one like nothing any of them had seen or even heard of.

It was a great, pulsating mass of reddish-brown hide, two meters tall and almost as wide, covered in scores of human-like mouths and large, bovine-like eyes of a deep, liquid brown. Pseudo-pods of flesh extruded in every direction, and it shambled forward with surprising speed for something without apparent legs.

Fairly certain that any kalovai they encountered within the maze would not attack them, assuming they didn’t attack first, the group was nonetheless reluctant to get near this grotesque and disturbing monstrosity. As they backed quickly away from the beast they suddenly found themselves in a largish room, at the opposite end of which they could see a flight of stairs going down into the golden haze.

Taking the stairs, they soon found themselves descending perhaps another 10 meters, into a short corridor that immediately turned right. Following this new passage for perhaps 20 meters, they came to a T-intersection, and with little debate, turned right. After 50 meters or so the golden light began to fade, and a blue glow appeared ahead of the group.

The glow came from another flight of stairs at the corridor’s end, down which flooded the light of the Greater Moon. They quickly ascended the stairs and soon found themselves once again in the Aranda maze, and began again the seemingly endless trudge down twisting corridors. Each member of the Hand soon began to feel that they had been in this maze forever, that they would continue on forever… until suddenly they stepped through another teleport spot, and ended up in a large, oddly shaped area of curved and straight walls, with no apparent way out.

The only thing to break the monotony of blue-lit stone was a small circular nook, three meters wide, in which stood a large anvil of black iron. Etched onto the surface of the anvil was a row of seven strange symbols, inlaid with bronze that shone brightly in the pseudo-moonlight. At the square end of the anvil, where the symbols ended, was a shallow stone bowl, filled with ochre-colored sand.

They pondered this conundrum for several minutes, debating what it meant, and what they were meant to do. Vulk experimentally drew a squiqqle in the sand, and for a moment nothing happened. Then, though there was no movement of the stultifying air around them, it seemed as if a breeze blew across the face of the sand, erasing Vulk’s mark and leaving the surface smooth once again.

“It’s obviously a sequence of some kind,” Devrik opined, “although I don’t recognize the symbol set… maybe it’s some Kalosian secret language?”

“Are we supposed to complete the sequence then?” Erol asked, studying the symbols intently. “Hey, doesn’t that one look like…”

“Yes,” Mariala agreed, suddenly animated, “and that one looks like…!”

From that point one it was quickly clear what the final symbol should be, and Vulk shook his head in amusement as he sketched it into the sand. As soon as he did there was a deep rumbling of stone-on-stone, and a section of wall behind them slowly sank into the floor, revealing a curving passage beyond.

Following this new path, the group soon found itself back at the first dual-alcove room they had encountered, where the group had been split. They groaned at the idea of doing it all over agin, but trudged onward, ever onward… and in time found themselves near the stairs via which they had reentered the blue maze. But now they found the way blocked by a savage looking gargoyle, one that showed little inclination to let them pass.

Not wanting to provoke a conflict, the party chose to back off, heading off into a part of the maze they had not yet explored. After an indeterminate time, at the end of another curving corridor, they once again experienced the shock of seeing Korwin vanish as he reached toward the wall that blocked their progress. With a sigh, the rest of the party stepped up and vanished one by one…

And once again found themselves in a room with no apparent way out, a room filled with the pale rose light of the full Lesser Moon. They were now clearly in the third of the Triple Labyrinth’s three mazes, the Osal Maze.

This time there was no anvil, no indication of any kind as to how they could exit this prison. They walked every inch of the floor, but found no hidden teleport areas. Then they began to examine the walls closely, looking for hidden doors, and it wasn’t long before they found one. It was really more concealed than hidden, once you knew what to look for, but with no obvious way to open it.

“There seems to be something about this stone,” Korwin said, examining a nearby patch of wall.

He pushed on the stone in question, and with a click it swung down, revealing itself to be a hinged cover over a recessed area in the wall. Within the recess was a panel of ochre sandstone, etched into a grid of squares, 5 x 5. In the center of each square was a hole, and along the right side and bottom of the grid, carved into the gray stone of the wall, were several numbers. In a deeper recess below the grid were five carved snakes of ivory, each one tinted a different shade and possessing three pegs protruding from its back. On the head of each snake was carved a number, from 1 to 5.

This puzzle took a little longer to solve, but in the end it was Korwin who came up with the correct placement of the snakes on the board. When the last snake had been pushed firmly into place there was a click and the door began to sink into the floor, revealing a chamber beyond, also bathed in pale rose light.

The working of the third maze was as tedious as the other two had been, as bereft of a sense of time, and as disheartening… until the moment they rounded a corner to see before them a small room, one meter by three, the far wall of which was lined with three empty alcoves. They hurried forward with a renewed sense of hope and purpose, and began pulling glowing orbs from scrip and pack.

There was no doubt amongst the companions that this had to be what they were looking for… Mariala, Vulk and Korwin each placed a crystal sphere of different color into the indentations of each alcove, in the sequence of the Gates in the Shrine above (or wherever) – blue on the right, yellow in the middle, rose on the left.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, the glow from the three orbs began to increase, and as it did tendrils of light began to rise from each one. Blue, yellow and rose, they flicked outward, twisting, questing, until they found one another and began to intertwine. They quickly formed a rope of three-colored light that hovered in the air briefly before stretching away down a narrow passage, still anchored in the three orbs.

Following the floating ribbon of light, the party jogged quickly along the corridors of the Osal maze, no longer worried about which turns to take, or trying to keep track of where they’d been. The Tripartite Light stretched before them and behind, and they had only to follow it now to the secret meeting place of the Vortex inquisitors…

After perhaps twenty minutes of twists and turns, the ribbon of tri-colored light brought the group to a narrow doorway beside which stood another statue of a a robed, hooded figure with glowing yellow snake eyes. The light continued on up the corridor beyond, before turning right and disappearing from view, but the companions were again stopped by an invisible wall of mental force. This time it seemed harder to push through, but in the end they all succeeded.

Jogging around the corner with the guiding light they found themselves facing a blank wall, against which the twined strands of light splashed and spread out, forming the shape of a doorway in a rippling wash of gold, blue and rose. With a glance at one another, they all shrugged and stepped up to the wall, and through it –

– to find themselves in a three meter by three nook, beyond which was a large chamber, lit not with the golden light of sunset, or the pale light of either moon, but with the gray, clear light of an overcast day. The chamber was square, 22 meters on a side, with a domed ceiling of pearl gray 15 meters above the floor. Four free-standing pillars of intricately carved stone dominated the center of the room, rising up 10 meters or so, ands the walls were well-fitted gray stone, ancient and weathered-looking.

For want of any sense of real direction, Korwin decided that the corner of the room with their nook was in the northwest… it was four meters above the floor and two flights of stairs, one along the “north” wall and one along the “west” lead down into the room. In the northeast corner of the room a single flight of stairs along the “north” wall lead up to another landing and an arched doorway in the same wall. To the southeast a larger nook/platform could be seen, like their own four meters up, but larger and with no stairs to reach it. The southwest corner of the chamber possessed two flights of stairs, but these met at a simple landing, with no attached nook. A metal sewer grate in the floor in this corner was the only such break in the stone surface he could see.

A faded red pattern of interlocking chains was painted on the floor at each corner of the room, each enclosing an uneven area of perhaps three square meters, and Korwin headed down the north stairs to get a closer look, and to examine the pillars. Erol went down the western stairs, also interested in the pillars, while the others stood irresolute on the platform above.

As Korwin was moving around to the east side of the pillars, and Erol examined the  southwestern one, there was a sudden shimmering in the air within the four corners enclosed by the floor markings – and then there were suddenly four more beings in the room.

In the corner beneath the nook where the party had appeared was a hulking shape, a muscular human body with the shoulders and head of an enormous bull, wielding a great battle axe – a recognizable type of kalovai, a Kulbar’kath. It snorted once, then sighted Erol and moved toward hi m with surprising speed and grace. Erol took one look and dashed for the high ground of the stairs in the SW corner, despite the appearance there of a large cube of bluish-green, translucent gelatin. At least it looked immobile…

Vulk, already at the foot of the stairs, and much closer to the Kulbar’kath, also decided the higher ground was a good idea, but realized he couldn’t lead it back up to where Mariala stood. With a muttered curse, he leapt down the last few steps and dashed after Erol, hot on his heels, praying to Kasira. But all his rituals seemed ineffective in what was, after all, the home of another deity…

Meanwhile, Korwin was confronted with a bizarre creature such as he’d never seen before – it’s segmented body, more than two meters in length, appeared to be made of a thick but flexible tree-like bark. It looked like nothing so much as a giant wooden earthworm, except that what should have been an innocuous head was actually a circular maw, filled with rows of sharp teeth, surrounded by four massive tentacles of the segmented, bark-like skin. He backed away from it in a stumbling rush, even as he drew his cutlass.

Unfortunately, he backed up into the range of the monstrous toad-like creature that had appeared in the SE corner of what now seemed to be some sort of arena. A mottled bluish-purple, it was perhaps two meters tall, with massive webbed hind legs, and two rubbery tentacles where its forelegs should have been. Two other tentacles grew from its hips, and all four appendages shaded into a brilliant magenta  before ending in mouth-like suckers. But most disturbing was the fleshy stalk that rose from the thing’s forehead, out of which grew a cluster of five eyes.

Even as Korwin swung his cutlass at the woodworm, striking a blow that seemed to have no effect, the toad-thing leaped at him, tentacles slashing. The beleaguered mage whirled to meet this new threat, his back now to the east wall. Even as he slashed at the toad Devrik raced down the stairs to engage the woodworm.

The Kulbar’kath had by then reached the stairs at the top of which Erol, with Vulk behind him, stood, trident poised. With a roar, the massive creature lunged up the stairs, swinging its battle axe, and the conflict was joined. Erol jabbed with his trident, Vulk reached around him to stab with his sword, and the Kulbar’kath hacked with the axe.

They seemed able to inflict only minor wounds on the great beast for quite awhile, until its whirling axe finally struck a solid blow to Erol’s left leg – as the blood spurted from the wound, Vulk lunged forward and stabbed into the right thigh of the Kulbar’kath. With a roar of pain and fury, the creature’s leg buckled under it, and it toppled from the stairs. Fortunately for the beast the gelatinous cube was not actually immobile – it had been slowly moving toward the center of the arena, leaving a bubbling trail of greenish slime behind it – and so the bull-man didn’t land on top of it.

As the the behemoth struggled to it’s feet, shaking it’s great head groggily, Erol snorted in disgust.

‘Well, that would’ve been convenient,” he muttered to Vulk. “I’ve seen what those jellies can do in the arena – dissolve a man in a matter of seconds! Would’ve been nice to kill two kalovai with one stone…”

“Yes,” agreed the cantor. “And you know, I’m beginning to think this isn’t the meeting chamber of any Vortex inquisition…”

Before Erol could reply, the Kulbar’kath was back on it’s feet, and moving to the attack once more. Erol hurled his trident at the monster before it could reach the steps, but it ducked the blow with surprising agility for such a massive creature. But that momentary hesitation had given the former gladiator enough time to free his net from his belt, and whispering the trigger word, hurl it in it’s turn. This time the brute was unable to dodge, and it took the net full in the face and upper torso. A shower of blue sparks sizzled off the net, and without a sound the beast’s eyes rolled up in its head and it collapsed to the ground.

While this had been going on Devrik and Kowrin had not been having notable success with their own opponents, and had in fact both taken several hits. The woodworm’s tentacles seemed lined with small, but sharp, hooks that tore at exposed flesh, caught in clothes, and attempted to ensnare it’s opponent, to be drawn into the pulsating maw of teeth.

The toad-thing’s tentacles, however, seemed to ooze some sort of acid from the sucker tips, and Korwin had taken one good hit. He quickly realized it wasn’t just acid, however, as the world around him seemed to take on a dream-like quality of surreal dimensions. His blows became slower and his mind began to wander…

Fortunately Erol arrived about then, having retrieved his trident and net, and was able to put a quick end to the dream-toad, as Korwin had come to think of it. Devrik finally got in a couple of good blows on the woodworm, which retreated to it’s corner seemingly dazed and oozing clear, sap-like blood from it’s “head.” Mariala, whose attempts at spell-casting had been annoyingly ineffectual, came down from the nook where she had watched the combat to join her friends. With Vulk luring the gelatinous cube back toward the body of the Kulbar’kath, where it would be distracted consuming a hefty meal, the battle seemed finished.

There was no sudden movement, no dramatic entrance, no fanfare, but each of the five friends was suddenly aware of a Presence in the chamber with them. Turning as one, they all stared at the being who was simply there, between the four pillars – rising up as a living fifth pillar was a massive yellow-brown snake, it’s coiled lower body it’s pedestal, it’s large, flat head it’s capital, towering five meters above them. Golden, black slitted eyes glowed with a mesmerizing fire, and a red tongue darted out of the fixed grin of the serpent’s mouth.

There was not an instant of doubt in anyone’s mind that this was one of the 20 Immortals; was, in fact, Kalos, the Mad God Himself.

“Did you enjoy your playtime with My Children?” Kalos asked, his voice, deep, rich, and resonate, yet slightly sibilant.

No one said anything.

“You are not the usual sort My priests send Me… indeed, is that the whiff of one of My cousins I detect?” The head bent swiftly down toward Vulk, and the darting tongue played lightly across his face. He didn’t move, but neither did he look away from those great golden eyes, each the size of a plate, with the weight of 5,000 years behind them. “Yessss, Kasira has left her mark on you, little brother… it seems to Me that She chose well.”

With that the great body twisted and the serpent head moved to each of the companions in turn, the forked tongue darting over each face.

“You are indeed no followers of Mine,” the god said at last. “I can’t tell you what a relief that isss… I have little interest these days in the concerns of mortals, though some continue to think I should… they keep sending Me pilgrims, and since they will do so, I long ago decided to make use of them, if they prove worthy… you have certainly proved worthy… tell Me, do you desire to be taken up and changed, to become one of My true Children.”

It seemed to the companions that there was a hint of laughter in His voice as Kalos posed this question. It was Mariala who answered first.

“Meaning no disrespect, Immortal Kalos, but we have no desire whatsoever to become one of your… projects…”

Now the laughter was plain in His voice. “Wise as well as beautiful. Indeed, I do not use the clay of mortals so, to make My Children, despite what many think.

“But I see in your minds what really brings you to My home,” the deity continued, the laughter suddenly gone from His voice. “You believe My abode to be the refuge of some mortal conspiracy; indeed, you wonder if I am Myself behind this ‘Vortex’ that has caused you such trouble…

“As I have said, I have no interest in, or patience for, the games of mortals; and I have even less patience for being made a tool of mortals. It is clear to me that you were lured here, in the hopes that you would either die at the hands of my Children or, surviving them, that I would slay you Myself for bearing weapons into My Labyrinth.”

‘But we didn’t know weapons were forbidden,” Korwin burst out. “The priest who let us in didn’t say anything –”

“Indeed,” Kalos continued coldly, “it would seem this Vortex has penetrated my priesthood, for no true priest of Mine would permit weapons in the Shrine, much less the Triple Labyrinth. Perhaps it is time I paid more attention to what my mortal followers are up to… yesss, perhaps a Manifestation is in order…

“In any case, I decline to be made a party to whatever this ‘Vortex’ is up to… and while they have not irritated Me enough to trouble Myself with telling them so personally, I feel you deserve something to level the playing field.

“And now, before I go, I offer you a choice… while I do not use mortal clay whole for my… projects, as the lady calls them… I do take the essence of those I find… mmmm… interesting. And I find each of you very interesting, each in your own way. Will you give me a drop of your blood?”

There was a moment of hesitation, and it was Erol who shrugged and spoke first. “There’s enough of my blood on Your floors already, what’s another drop?” He stepped forward, holding out his arm.

The great serpentine head lowered itself toward him, the smiling mouth opening wide. It closed on the arm and a single fang pierced Erol’s skin, though he felt no more than a pin-prick. One by one the others stepped forward and offered their arm, and the procedure was repeated.

Only Vulk stood back at last, and as the great, lambent eyes turned to him he bowed deeply. “I mean no offense, Immortal Shaper, but I do not think I can offer this to you, vowed as I am to the Lady of Luck, my patron and guide.”

“I take no offense where none was intended. Each being’s essence is its own, even a mortals, and I do not take what is not freely offered. Perhaps you will think on it, and another time decide differently.”

With that the hugh snake began to undulate across the floor, rising up to mount the platform that stood above the SE corner of the arena. Once it had coiled itself into the space, it turned to look once more at the group still frozen on the floor below.

“I remind you that no magics save My own work in this place, unless I should allow it. And as I show you the way out, consider this – I despise cleaning house…”

With that Kalos turned and slithered silently through the archway behind Him, disappearing down the corridor beyond.

It took several minutes for the group to realize that the bodies of the kalovai that they had defeated were gone, vanished as unnoticed as the Immortal had appeared. And Erol was the first to notice that Kalos had left them a gift – the nasty gash in his leg was gone, as if it had never been. When he pointed this out to the others they realized they had all been healed of their wounds, indeed had never felt better. Only Devrik was silent about his own wounds, and seemed more inward than usual.

After a brief discussion it was agreed that the Immortal had intended them to exit by the same way He had, and they quickly rigged a way up to the stairless platform. As they began to walk down the corridor the hyper-real quality that had pervaded their senses began to fade back to their normal perception of the mundane world.

In what seemed to be less than 20 meters the group found themselves in a bone-basalt-and-amber passage much like the one they had entered the maze through. Indeed, it shortly revealed itself to be exactly the same passage, as they stepped out from the Aranda Gate, back into the vast open space of the Shrine. But now the Shrine was silent and empty, the glow from the amber panels dimmer, and beyond the tall entrance way lay the full darkness of night.

“We entered the Labyrinth just a few hours past dawn,” Mariala said, frowning. “I swear we weren’t in there more than… five, six hours?”

“No, it was longer than that… wasn’t it?” Vulk shook his head uncertainly.

None of the others could quite agree on how long they had traversed the mazes of Nah-henu, but they were all certain that it should not now be full night. Before they could ponder the question any further, however, they were interrupted by a yellow-robed priest coming toward them from one of the meditation chambers near the entrance.

“What is this disturbance? The Shrine is closed for –” the man stopped short as he recognized the group before him, at the same instant they recognized him – it was the cadaverous-looking priest who had guided them into the maze, the one they were quite certain was an agent of the Vortex organization.

The man’s eyes grew wide and his cool, smug demeanor slipped in shock. “You – I was certain – how can you be –” The surprise quickly gave way to a snarl of rage, and he raised his hands in in a gesture of power. The surprise that came over his face when nothing happened was, Devrik thought as he strode forward and punched him hard in the face, almost comical.

Looking around apprehensively for more priests, and wondering exactly how to explain this to them, the group soon realized that the Shrine was in fact empty. Devrik and Erol securely bound their prisoner, looking for the tell-tale tattoo on his wrist as they did so. Sure enough, the full mark of red and black was visible, indicating that the man stood higher in the secret organization than just minion or tool.

While they were doing this Mariala went to the entrance and peered out into the night, only to let out a startled gasp. Vulk and Korwin were quickly at her side, and stood shocked in turn. Low in the eastern sky, perhaps an hour risen above the distant mountains, were both the Greater and the Lesser moons – and they were both full. Their mingled blue and rose light illuminated the landscape around them  with surprising clarity, and to the south an orange glow, as from many bonfires, silhouetted the hills that lay between them and the monastery.

“It’s the night of Höl Kopia,” Vulk said after a moment, eyes still fixed on the moons in amazement.

“There is no way we were in that maze for three days,” Korwin denied, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Perhaps time runs differently there,” Mariala offered. “Or perhaps it is the doing of the Shaper. The Immortals are… quite powerful. In any case, it explains why the Shrine is empty tonight, everyone is at the monastery, celebrating the High Holy Day…”

“But what are the odds that the one priest we wanted happens to be the one on duty here tonight?” Korwin asked.

“It seems we are blessed by the Lady of Luck,” Vulk replied, smiling. “Although I won’t deny that I suspect the hand of Kalos played a more proximate role in this particular case…”

“The question now,” said Devrik, who had caught the end of the conversation as he and Erol dragged the false priest over, “is how we get this one out of here, to someplace where we can question him. Thoroughly.” His smile at the now conscious, if dazed, prisoner was not reassuring.

“You will never question me, you meddlesome gnats,” the man snarled. He stood taller, trying to regain his dignity and composure despite his bonds and bleeding nose. “The Vortex is everywhere, and you will die in agony, though you have bested me here! I now pay willingly the price of my failure!”

He raised his bound arms, the sleeves of his robe falling back to reveal his tattoo, and closed his eyes, his face almost rapturous as he accepted his death.

Nothing happened.

This time the look of utter shock on his face was without a doubt comical, and Devrik laughed out loud. The others were soon grinning as well, as the red and black tattoo began to smoke, seeming to effervesce into wisps of dark light that coiled like a snake, before being blown away on the night breeze. In seconds the mark had faded away to nothing, and the would-be suicide stared dumbfounded at his now unblemished wrist.

“Well, the big problem has been taken care of,” Korwin chuckled. “And I have an idea or two about how to solve the more mundane ones that remain…”

The Hand of Fortune decided their best course of action would be to accept the Khundari Shadow Warriors’ offer, and accompany them home to the dwarven city-state of Dürkon. They hoped to catch the trail of their current quarry there, assuming the trader known to the Dükonians as Arlun Parek was, in fact, the elusive mage that had escaped them during the herb hunt in the hills above Lake Everbrite. Korwin’s intelligence from Magister Vetaris, and their own experience, led them to feel fairly confident that this was the case.

Departing early in the morning hours of the 10th of Turniki, the friends had a sad parting with Draik, Raven and Black Hawk, the first time in months (although it seemed like years) that they had set off on an adventure without them. Vulk, in particular, seemed depressed at leaving his Shield Brother behind, although he said little as they rode off into the cool morning fog. The trees were just beginning to turn from their summer green, here in the mountains, and it seemed to reflect the mood of the group.

They made good time, despite the Khundari being on foot… they seemed to never tire and could keep up a pace that easily matched the Hand’s horses. The morning mists soon burned off, and the day proved to be a beautiful late summer day, warm but not hot, perfect for traveling. They reached Dor Zebarin before noon, and were enthusiastically greeted by Ser Coreth, the Constable, who seemed fully recovered from the baneberry poisoning two months past. He insisted that the companions stay at the keep, and invited both them and their Khundari companions to join him for a feast that evening.

Questioning both before and during the banquet provided no clue as to the location of Arlun Parek. The Constable was unfamiliar with the name, and none of the local merchants or guildsfolk he had questioned knew of the man’s whereabouts, although some recalled him from trading visits in years past. After a long and ale-filled evening, the Khundari retired to their inn and the Hand to their chambers.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning they were on the road again at first light, making for Dor Areson, the new keep the Crown was building on the Grevas River, at the eastern edge of the mysterious Torvin Marsh. Gold had been found in recent years in the Grevas and its tributaries, and the influx of fortune-seekers had prompted the construction of this new fortress. Lekorm described the building to his Umantari companions as they traveled, critiquing it as only a Khundari could. Although not designed nor built by his people, apparently the architect had been a student of a Khundari master builder, and had learned his trade reasonably well, Lekorm conceded. When they had passed through on their way south, the masons had been nearing the end of their labors – they expected to have the keep completed by Höl Kopia, just six days away now.

Of course the big question in Nolkior, one that Vulk and Mariala in particular had heard many rumors about in the last two months, was to whom would the King grant the fief . Every noble house in the realm was vying for the plum, some with subtlety and grace, others with bluster and boasting. The Caelite Order of the Lord of Paladins was also pressing the King to grant them the keep, which they hoped to make their new headquarters, the better to pursue their growing crusade against the Firilani barbarians.

They rode down from the hills into the wide river valley of the Grevas in the early afternoon. As they wound down the last kilometers to Dor Areson they had a breathtaking view – the shining ribbon of the river running through a gently rolling land, wooded and dotted with ripening fields, the keep itself bright new stone gleaming in the sun, and to the west, miles of sparkling green wetlands with the blue waters of Lake Everbrite beyond. And rising over the lake, blue in the late-summer haze, the snow-capped peak of Mount Ratonkül, beneath which lay the Khundari city of Dürkon.

The small village around the walls of the new fortress was abuzz with activity, and the sounds of wood and stone being worked could be heard from almost every direction. While the dwarves debated whether they would go on, after a brief rest, and try to make their city before nightfall, Vulk, Mariala and Korwin rode up to speak to the knight in charge of the keep’s construction, one Ser Arol Korvek, a heavy-set, red-faced man with thinning white hair and a friendly manner.

As it happened, he was familiar with the name Arlun Parek, who he was sure had only recently been in town. He was able to point the friends in the direction of the local apothecary, who might know more about the trader’s schedule and habits. Ser Arol himself knew little more than the name, this being essentially a booming frontier town, and himself very busy with the final details of his charge.

The apothecary did indeed know more about Arlun Parek, and revealed that the man had been in town  just the day before, and had gone into the marsh. He came several times a year, apparently, to trade with the old crazed hermit who lived in the marshlands west of them… Torkin Veldan was the old coot’s name, and he had lived in his cabin in the swamp for as long as anyone could remember… he claimed to be descended from ancient royalty, which was absurd of course, but he did know his plants and herbs and animals.

The apothecary traded with him himself, and the man’s goods were always top quality. Others came from as far as Kildora to deal with the crazy old guy, who had little use for money, but would take some very odd things in trade if the mood struck him. That Arlun fellow was from the Republic himself, in fact… no, he wan’t inclined to go into the marsh himself, it was a dangerous and unsettling place… he preferred to wait for Torkin to bring his goods out, although yes, he had been to the man’s cabin a time or two… he ‘d be happy to show them the path into the marsh, and give what directions he could, but they’d best be careful of the quaking bogs, the quicksands, and the poisonous snakes… not to mention the meredragons!

Rejoining their companions, and passing on the news that their quarry was potentially close at hand, there ensued a lengthy debate about what to do. Some were all for pursuing the elusive mage into the wetlands, others wondered if they shouldn’t wait for the man to re-emerge and take him then. Eventually it was agreed that there was no certainty that he’d return through the village, rather than exit the marsh elsewhere, but then came the argument about how to approach the man. Korwin wanted to rendition him to Dürkon, for questioning under the expertise of the Khundari, but the others were more concerned about surviving their meeting with him, and taking him alive to begin with.

The Shadow Warriors showed no interest in going into the misty, damp and fetid swamp, although they had decide to stay for the night in Areson, rather than push on for home. They would be leaving an hour after dawn the next day, and would prepare a welcome for the friends in Dürkon, whenever they might show up. Eventually the group got its act together and, leaving Cris and Jeb to guard the horses and baggage, followed their local guide out of the village and down to the margins of the wetlands.

♦ ♦ ♦

The old hermit’s cabin was said to be no more than four or five kilometers into the marsh, but as the path was ever-shifting and hard to follow, with dangerous bogs, quicksands and algae-filled pools at every turn, it took several hours to make their way there. It was shortly after Erol had sunk up to his knees in quicksand, and been pulled out by Vulk and his staff, that they found themselves on a patch of more solid ground amongst the reeds, bushes and water-rooted trees, on which sat Torkin’s cabin. Although clearly quite old, the wood dark with slime and algae, the roof thick with moss, it nonetheless appeared to be well-maintained. The area around was cleared, a large pile of wood was stacked agains one wall, and translucent scraped-hide windows covered the several windows. A solid-looking door was closed, but smoke was drifting up from the fieldstone chimney.

They approached cautiously, Erol trying not to squelch in his wet boots, alive to any sense of danger. Brann sniffed ahead of Devrik, while Erol’s ferret, Grover, ranged merrily along the fringes of the clearing, bright-eyed and curious. There was no sign of life, beyond the smoke from the cabin… eventually they approached the door and called out the old man’s name. After several minutes without a response, one of them tried the latch on the door. It was unlocked, and they slowly pushed it open…

The inside of the one-room cabin was dim, despite the light from four windows and a well-made fire in the fireplace, but not so dim that they didn’t immediately see the body laying on the floor, near the crude pallet that served as a bed. Vulk cautiously approached the figure, wary as he was these days of the undead, but soon determined that this one was well and truly, most sincerely dead. It was a leathery, wrinkled old man, with wispy gray hair, clad only in crude leather breeches, laying face down on the wooden floor. The cause of death seemed fairly obvious – vines, growing up through the cracks between the floorboards, appeared to have entangled the poor old fellow and to have strangled him. His eyes bulged and his bloated tongue protruded between purple lips. But there was little smell of decay, and what there was seemed to come from the vines themselves, which seemed limp and rotting.

“I’d say he’s only been dead a few hours,” Vulk said to Mariala as he rose to his feet.

“Torkin Veldan, you think?” she asked, gazing about the cabin.

“Probably…” Vulk began to look around the cabin himself now, and noted the crude crates piled up in one corner and the bales of dried plants stacked neatly in another, all looking like they were waiting to be moved out. The fire seemed well made, and couldn’t have been burning unattended for more than an hour or two. Whoever had killed this man wasn’t too far away, he felt sure.

While the others had busied themselves inside the cabin, examining the body and rifling through the dead man’s possessions, Erol and Devrik had both wandered outside to look around further. Devrik examined the area around the cabin more closely, occasionally listening to what was going on inside through the now-open windows. When Vulk pondered aloud whether or not he should make the tremendous effort to try and resurrect the dead man, Devrik snorted, and called in, “Are you really going to resurrect every dead body we come across?”

“I was pondering,” Vulk replied, giving his friend an annoyed finger. “And no, I’m not!”

Despite his first-hand experience with the dangers of the swamp, Erol headed off westward, Grover ranging beside and before him, following what looked like the marks of a largish number of shod feet. He had tried to quietly get his friends attention but, having failed, he shrugged and decide to investigate quietly himself. Not a hundred meters on he suddenly heard the sounds of conflict, and a deep roar of pain and rage. Creeping through the bushes and creeping vines hanging from trees, he peered out at the back of a curved section of ruined stone wall, jaggedly ranging from two to three meters high. The action, whatever it was, appeared to be happening on the other side of the wall, within the arc of what must have once been a tower, or maybe a temple… all Erol could see, off to the right edge was a single gülvini.

“Damn,” he thought. “More of those damn gül-gramlini. They sure get around…”

Moving around slowly and quietly, he made his way further to his right, to get a better look at what was going on. He soon saw at least some of the action – it was both several gül-gramlini and at least two gül-hovgavui attacking a huge reptilian creature that not only was backed up against the wall, but seemed to be ensnared by numerous vines that grew up from the ground and wound around its limbs, torso, neck and tail, all but immobilizing it. The gülvini ware using spears to dart in and stab at the creature’s head and exposed flanks.

Erol turned to make his way back to his friends and bring the warning, but he saw that they were already cautiously approaching, drawn by the roars now coming from the wounded meredragon. Aat least that’s what Erol assumed it was, from Korwin’s description on the hike in here. And probably one of the cowardly males, rather than the more aggressive females, given how it even now tried to avoid its tormentors, rather than attack them… and at that moment one of the spears must have pierced something vital, for with a plaintive cry the great creature suddenly shuddered and collapsed, one last bellows-like breath exuded as it died.

As the gülvini set aside their spears and took out axes to begin carefully hacking off the spinal ridge-plates of the dead dragon, Erol quickly brought the others up to speed. They then began to spread out, shielded from the view of the gülvini by the ruined wall, trying to see what lay beyond. And what lay beyond riveted their attention – some 15 meters beyond the massacre at the wall, two more urve, as Korwin insisted the meredragon’s be called, were struggling frantically in the grip of more vines holding them fast near the water’s edge, vines apparently being controlled by a human flanked by two gül-gramlini with spears.

The human had his back to them, and the hood was up on his blue cloak, but he was gesturing in clear control of the vines, and in his hand was a tall staff of carved wood and metal, with a large red crystal set in the head. Spread out along the wall, it was difficult for the friends to discuss options, but in any case it was quickly taken out of their hands as Devrik rushed to attack the mage.

The gülvini guarding the human sensed Devrik’s approach only at the last second, turning in time for one to take the charging warrior’s battlesword right across its right hand, causing it to collapse shrieking to the ground, blood gushing from a severed artery. Brann leaped at the throat of the second gülvini guard, but was knocked away with a backhanded blow.

Even as Devrik moved into the clearing, Erol loosed an arrow from his bow from a break in the ruined wall, aimed at what he was certain was Arlun Parek. But the shaft flew wide, missing not only his target but both the gülvini guards and the struggling urve. ‘Damn, I really need to get Jeb to give me lessons,’ he thought in disgust, notching another arrow…

As the battle was joined Vulk leapt out and cast down his Serpent Staff before the nearest of the large gül-hovgavui, then drove his sword at the nearer of the smaller gül-gramlini, sending the creature’s weapon flying from its hand. As the snarling creature scrabbled for the axe in the tangled vegetation at the foot of the wall, its larger companion found itself suddenly in the constricting coils of a massive 3 meter snake…

Mariala had been preparing to try and seize control of the vines ensnaring the two urve when Devrik charged into battle, and as he took down the first gülvini she focused her concentration on her Ring of Plant Control, and felt her mind expand outward. She touched the vegetable “mind” of the unnaturally moving vines, and felt the other mind that controlled their movements; she attempted to wrest that control away, but was rebuffed…

Erol shot his second arrow at a closer target this time; unfortunately, it was the same gülvini that was wrestling with Vulk’s huge snake. Not that it mattered much in the end, as the shaft sailed harmlessly into the trees and the water beyond. He cursed, dropped the bow, and reached for his trident…

From behind the wall Korwin unleashed the spell he had been preparing, and Damokiran’s Freezing Mist quickly began to spread over the area where most of their opponents were gathered. There was a shimmering in the air as the moisture was drawn from it, condensing into a slick frost that covered everything in a 10 meter circle. Even as the stones slackened under the spell, one of the gül-gramlini leapt to the top of the wall, preparing to attack Korwin from above – and it’s feet slid out from under it. With a shriek of dismay it tumbled to the ground at the water mage’s feet, as Korwin staggered back in surprise. But he kept preparing his next spell…

The battle began to take on a certain comedic tone at this point, Erol thought as time finally slowed down for him – the sun glistening on the frosted ground and wall, the gülvini slipping and sliding as they fought snakes or tried to move toward Devrik or leap onto the wall or die on Vulk’s broadsword – and he spitted the axe hand of one of the little white furry guys, right through the wrist, and the blood spurted out in that way it has…

To everyone else, it remained a confused, chaotic mess. Devrik repeatedly struck at Arlun Parek (there was no doubt now who his foe was, having seen his face), but no matter how mighty the blow, how certain the damage, the unarmored wizard seemed unfazed and undamaged. He never more than staggered back a bit, and he had delivered several nasty blows with his staff to Devrik’s chest, which felt like a rib might have snapped in there…

Another solid hit on Arlun, who just staggered a bit, gesturing with one hand even as he did so – and suddenly Devrik felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. He blocked a blow from the gülvini guard to his right with one hand as he reached back to pull a throwing star from his shoulder… the damn thing was made of bone, yet it had pierced his armor and sunk into his flesh. And as he watched the object disintegrated in his hand, trickling to the ground in a cloud of dust.

He had no time to consider it, as the second gül-hovgavu slid up to him, unsteady on its feet on the slick ground, and he was forced to plunge his sword into its thigh, severing the femoral artery. It went down with a roar of pain and fury, but was quickly no more than a twitching mound of black fur and tusk. And then a second bone star pinged off the bracer on his left forearm…

Mariala and Vulk had both seen the sudden flash of the throwing star that had hit Devrik, but neither was sure where it had come from or who had thrown it. She was too engaged in her continuing mental battle for control of the vines to do anything else, but Vulk, having dispatched the gülvini near him, moved towards the area he thought the enemy must be. Skirting the icy area, moving fast behind the wall, he saw the second throwing star as it flew toward Devrik, but no enemy – the weapon had flown up and out from a small knapsack that lay apparently abandoned near the west end of the wall, behind his friend. Something should be done about that pack…

As he contemplated his next move he was startled into a girlish shriek by Erol, suddenly appearing from nowhere, running full tilt past him, calling out “On your left!” as he did. As his heart stopped twitching in his chest, he saw Korwin cast another spell of some sort, and a rolling bank of heavy fog suddenly enveloped the area behind Arlun, shrouding the two urve from view, and partially obscuring the enemy mage as well.

At the moment that the mists rose, Mariala finally gained the upper hand in her mental struggle with Arlun for control of the plants, feeling his will snap away. She immediately commanded the vegetation to release the meredragons, and although she could no longer see them, she sensed them obeying, falling away to quickly begin rotting back into the earth. Now maybe the dragons would enter the fray and take out that seemingly impervious mage!

And to help them along, she now set about casting a Dispell on Arlun, to try and break whatever enchantment he possessed that was allowing him to take Devrik’s blows as if he were wearing plate. But even as she cast it, she sensed it slipping off and away from her enemy. Whatever it was, she wasn’t strong enough yet to remove it. And now he was moving back into the mists, fading from her view…

As Brann again attacked the last gülvini guard, both Erol and Devrik had moved forward to attack Arlun, watching a thick fog suddenly come up behind him. But though they both struck solid blows with battlesword and trident, the mage seemed unaffected. He stepped back into the enshrouding mists, gesturing as he moved and muttering something unintelligible. Devrik was momentary distracted as he was forced to kill the gül-hovgavu that had slipped and slid its way to him, severing the femoral artery in its thigh.

Erol had already disappeared ahead of him, as Devrik prepared to follow Arlun into the mists, when there suddenly came surging out of that fog a second wave of vapor. But this one was a transparent green mist, not terribly difficult to see through, though it gave everything a greenish cast. As soon as everyone within the expanding cloud had drawn another breath, however, they knew it was nothing good – the smell was simply unbelievable, and completely unbearable, like a dead skunk that had been rotting for a week in a vat of steaming shit. But it was the hint of cinnamon underlying it all that made it almost impossible not to vomit uncontrollably.

Devrik and Erol both managed to avoid actually vomiting, as did most of the remaining gülvini caught in the cloud. But Vulk was not so lucky and he was quickly on his knees, regretting everything he’d ever eaten or drunk. Fortunately Mariala remained outside the range of the stinking cloud, but equally unfortunately the gül-hovguva that had been struggling with Vulk’s snake had finally inflicted enough damage to cause it to revert to its staff form, and he was also outside the green cloud. He staggered toward Mariala with murder in his beady red eyes and an axe in his hand…

Grover the ferret leapt from his spot on the wall where he’d been avidly watching the carnage, and ran straight up the gülvini brute’s leg and under his leather breast plate. With a shriek, the monstrous creature tried to hack at the small animal that suddenly seemed to be trying to chew through its stomach. Mariala was never quite sure, afterward, if Grover actually managed to sever something vital, or if the cursed creature managed to fatally injury itself in trying to attack the ferret; in any case, it suddenly toppled over, clawing at the ground as it quickly bled out. Grover snaked out from under, his jaws and fur bloody, and scampered up a nearby tree.

Meanwhile, Erol had staggered about, retching in the fog, seeking Arlun, and had managed another futile hit before losing him again. Devrik remained on the edge of the fog, trying to cope with the sudden weakness and twisting stomach the green gas had indicted on him. Suddenly,  there was a roar, loud enough to hurt the ear, and out of the fog a dark shape came hurtling toward him, to land crumpled at his feet – it was Arlun, stunned and shaken, but apparently not out just yet.

Following out of the fog bank was a mere dragon, larger and far more aggressive than anything they’d yet seen, its tail lashing ferociously back and forth, shredding the fog like a fan – a female, obviously! Moving faster than he would have thought such a huge creature could, she lashed out with one great claw at Devrik’s head. Instinctively, he swung his battelsword up and struck her knee, but the blade hardly penetrated at all, and was almost wrenched from his grasp.

Still in the grip  of the damn cloud, he staggered back – he had no desire to fight the innocent meredragons, especially a female one. As he retreated from the conflict, Arlun staggered to his feet and swung at the urve with his staff. The dragon caught it in her massive jaws, and the thing snapped like a dry twig, with a flash of violet light that only Devrik, Korwin and Mariala saw. Arlun was again sent staggering back, turning it into a stumbling run back into the now quickly thinning mists.

About then, several things happened at once – a gust of wind dispersed the last of Korwin’s fog bank, as well as most of Arlun’s stinking cloud, Mariala cast a Fire Nerve spell at the suddenly visible form of their opponent, and Vulk completed his ritual of Herald’s Peace, all at the same time that Arlun’s clothes crumpled to the ground and a large hawk rose on flapping wings into the afternoon sky.

Erol was briefly tempted to hurl his trident at the feeing bird/mage, wishing his bow wasn’t laying 15 meters away, but then felt a sense of peace and harmony flood through him and it seemed wrong somehow. The meredragon suddenly stopped and shook her head from side to side; she stared around the clearing at them all for a moment, and then turned and waded back out into the waters of the marsh, quickly disappearing from sight.

Once again the damn Torazin mage had escaped them!

♦ ♦ ♦

For the half hour that the Herald’s Peace lasted, the companions searched Arlun’s abandoned clothes and knapsack, discovering a significant amount of coin and gemstones, clothes, four remaining bone stars, and a rolled up map tube. In the latter item they discovered a map of the local area, centered on the ancient site of Nah-henu, supposed worldy home of the Immortal Kalos, called by some the Mad God. There was also a code-like writing in various places on the map, but no one could immediately decipher it.

They also discussed what to do with the five surviving gülvini prisoners they now found themselves saddled with, while Erol tended their wounds and Vulk saw to the healing of Brann, who had been badly injured by the last gülvini he’d fought. In the end they questioned the one who seemed most persuadable to cooperation, and learned something of what had transpired here…

It seemed that “the Master,” as the creature called Arlun, had come into a nearby gül-gramlini colony, with the two hulking gül-hovgavui already under his control, and demanded a hand of warriors to accompany him into the marshes. They had been compelled to obey him by the force of his mastery, a strange compulsion they hated but could not control. He had sent them into the wetlands, with strict orders to meet him at the small cabin, while he went into the human town. Why, he didn’t know, now did he?

When the Master had showed up he had gone into the cabin, and the two humans had argued… the old, wrinkled one whined about the swamp lizards being his friends, he’d never betray them… then the Master had spoken, and vines shot up through the floor and tangled the old one to death. It was very amusing, and they hadn’t felt so bad about following such a powerful master then.

He had used the call the old man had once taught him, to summon the lizards, and three had come… then the fun began. The Master lured one into the trap, then bound it there with his vines, and while his great servants dispatched it with spears, he had bound the other two… they were to be next, the Master wanted the oil from their spine plates… no, he didn’t say why… why do masters of anything? If it doesn’t involving killing or fucking, what’s the point, really? Anyway, then the stupid Umantari had interfered, and it had all fallen apart… they had been supposed to carry the bundles and crates in the cabin out of the swamp for the Master… did the Umantari want them to do the same for them now…?

About then, the two urve who had fled as soon as Mariala had freed them came tentatively back, obviously nervous and wary. But the group convinced them they meant no harm, and agreed that they could take their friend’s body away (fortunately Korwin had packed up the three spine plates the gülvini had already cut off, and Erol had taken the teeth he wanted). They confirmed that Torkin had long been a friend to them, and they were saddened at his death. They had traded in the past with Arlun, and were very confused as to why he had suddenly turned on them… they soon departed into the waters with the dead urve between them.

Once they were gone the others continued to argue about the fate of their now useless prisoners, and with the Peace gone, ideas turned violent. Vulk and Mariala returned to Torkin’s cabin to see to Torkin’s remains. As Vulk prepared the body for a proper cremation, Mariala took the key he’d found in the old man’s trousers and tried it on the small casket she’d found under his bed. It turned out to contain only a few copper and silver coins, an old, tarnished ring, and various bits of detritus that had apparently been precious to their owner, but trash to anyone else. She thought it was very sad.

She attended with Vulk at the byre, setting it alight as the sun set in a conflagration of red and orange in the west, and he recited the words of the Ritual of Farewell. The others soon joined them, seeing the smoke of the burning, and they all stood silently until all was ash and embers. The sun had set by then, though the western sky was still bright with half-light, and they all realized they’d be spending the night in the cabin.

As they left Vulk to attend to the final rites alone, walking slowly to the cabin, Mariala caught up to Devrik.

“So what did you decide about the gülvini?” she asked quietly.

“We didn’t, really,” he shrugged. “When the ideas degenerated to the point of forcing them into the water to let the female dragons eat them, he simply got up and walked over behind them and slit their throats. We left the bodies there.”

“Oh,” was all she had to say in answer. They went into the cabin.

 

It was a beautiful late summer morning, and Erol was well content.

He was actually glad he had decided to come up here with Drake, on his friend’s first visit to the manor he had been given when he was so recently knighted. He had always been a city boy, but he was finding it very relaxing to spend his time out in the fresh air, working at something constructive for a change. Getting the dilapidated manor back into useful shape was work, certainly, but at least you could see the results of your efforts made tangible.

Unlike, say,  the constant training for combat he’d spent most of his adult life performing… there, you only knew that your effort had paid off if you managed to survive other people trying to kill you. Which was a satisfying thing in itself, of course, but not as immediately obvious when you were doing the hard work. Still, he wouldn’t want to do this all the time, he knew he’d get bored pretty quick. A few days were fine, but a year of farm living and he was pretty sure he’d be homicidal.

Tarich Manor was a remote outpost in the southern Ganitor Hills of eastern Nolkior. Nestled in a narrow mountain valley, on the western bank of the small Ayax River that flowed down from the heights of Mount Eigarstal, it was less than two kilometers from the border with Tharkia. Thick evergreen forest, mounting up ridge upon ridge along the valley walls, surrounded the  long, narrow assart of the manor.

A light woodland of mountain oak dominated the cleared lands around the fields, and was currently encroaching on those fields. The fief had stood vacant for eleven years now, the previous holder having died heirless. Being so remote and isolated, no one had been anxious to claim it, and it had remained in the hands of the Earl of  Burnan, administered by a caretaker and his family. But the man’s wife had died and his sons had moved away to the excitement of the big city, and for several years he had been unable to keep up the place, much less plant the fields. The wilderness threatened to reclaim it.

But now it was the demesne of Ser Draik Bartyne, and he wanted to see it brought back to life. When he had arrived several days ago with Cris and Erol in tow, he had been shocked to see how run down the manor was, and how overgrown the fallow fields were. But the old man, Riken Horas, had assured him that with proper energy, and enough hands, it could be brought back in no time. Drake had decided to return to Dür and enlist some proper help, promising to send them back with his cousin Danyes. Erol and Cris had volunteered to stay and get started on the manor itself.

Tarich manor was a moderately sized building, two floors of stone and wood, surrounded by a palisade some 42 meters long by 36 meters wide. The palisade was well made, of seasoned logs 5 meters high and sharpened at the top, and a wide archer’s walk that ran along all side three meters above the ground. The oak and iron gates were also well-crafted, needing only some minor oiling of the hinges. Two out buildings, a stable and a workshop nestled under the walls at opposite corners of the yard, and a tall watch tower rose more than 10 meters into the sky in the northwest corner, providing a view of all the surrounding lands. Two majestic oaks stood on either side of the main door into the house, shading the yard and the well.

Too much brush and scrub had been allowed to grow close to the walls, too close for Erol’s liking, and that was the first thing he and Cris took care of after Drake had departed. They left old Riken to make a start on cleaning out the manor house itself. That evening, going through crates of old stuff stashed in the cellar and attic, Cris came upon several sets of old, but still serviceable, leather armor. He was delighted to find enough pieces that fit him to deck himself out fairly well. Erol smiled as the boy demonstrated his new costume for them by firelight, but figured if he was going to be hanging out with the Hand of Fortune, then he probably should be better equipped…

When Danyes arrived late the next day with three sturdy farm lads, Riken was happy to lay out the plan for the reclamation of the fallow fields. Too late for this year, of course, but they’d be ready for next year. All three of the new hands, Jeb, Benek and Korveth, were looking to start their own families, and Drake’s promise of land on his fief had brought them here to put in some sweat equity. The next day Cris lead the three newcomers out into the fields and Danyes waded into the cleaning and repair of the house with Riken. Erol spent the morning going over the defenses, fixing what he could, making notes about what would require more time.

It was as he was standing in the shade of one of the oaks, drinking cool water from the well and thinking how content he was, that Cris came bursting into the yard through the open gates, followed a moment later by the farmers.

“Gülvini!” Cris gasped, stumbling up to Erol and bending over, hands on knees, to catch his breath. “Saw them… down by the… creek… went to… cool off… coming down… from the… mountain…”

Erol handed him the ladle he’d been drinking from, told him to drink, breath, relax, and then start from the beginning. Which Cris did, after a moment.

As the morning grew warmer, and their work got sweatier, the men had decided they needed a break. Cris guided them to the creek that bordered the assart on the western edge, maybe half a kilometer from the manor. But as they approached the creek Cris had caught a whiff of something he recognized from an earlier encounter – the musk of gülvini! Urging the others to silence, and moving them off the road, he had snuck forward cautiously to see a band of small, whitish gülvini, and one large blackish one,  come down the hillside out of the forest.

They had come as far as the bridge over the creek, then had turned back and seemed to be making camp in a large clearing nearby. Cris hadn’t waited to see more, deciding he’d gambled enough with his luck. He made his way back to his companions, explained what he’d seen, and then lead them quietly away until he felt it was safe to run.

“There were at least six of ’em,” he concluded. “Plus the big one. They had armor and spears, that I saw; maybe other weapons. I think they know the manor is here, Erol!”

Erol wasted no time in ordering the defense of the manor. He sent the farm boys to sort through the old armor bits and outfit themselves as best they could. They were all most comfortable with a hand axe as a weapon, which maybe wasn’t the greatest choice against spears, but there were several round shields, and it would have to do. He was very pleased to learn that Jeb was considered the best shot in the hundred with a short bow, at least amongst the peasant families. They had a short bow, and twenty arrows, so Erol sent him to the archer’s walk to the right of the main gate.

By then Riken and Danyes had come out of the house, and had heard the gist of the problem. The gülvini were on the road between them and anywhere civilized, but the old man claimed to know forest paths that would get them around the beastmen and to the closest neighbor manor with little difficulty. He agreed to go, and Erol sent Danyes along with him, uncertain if the old fellow was really up for the trip.

By the time Riken and Danyes had set out to bring help Erol had his defenses in hand. Jeb on the wall with his bow, Korveth in the watch tower to alert them to any approach, and he and Cris to patrol the walls if an attack came… Korveth, too, once the enemy had been spotted, he supposed it was going to be hard to keep this much wall covered. He wished he’d thought to bring some of Mariala’s magic paper with him, then he wouldn’t have had to send two of his defenders away… but if there were only seven of the gülvini…

He decided he needed to see for himself. In as little armor as he felt was consistent with both speed and some protection, carrying his trident and his gladius (he’d rather take his battle-axe, but that seemed a bit bulky for stealth work) he had Cris open the gate to let him out.

“I’ll be back within the hour,” he said, hefting his trident. “Keep a watch, and if you see me running for the gates with the enemy behind, be prepared to open them just enough for me to get in, then slam ’em shut.

“And don’t worry,” he promised the worried-looking boy as he slipped out, “we can hold out until help comes, if we all just keep our wits.”

With that he set off down the road, or, more accurately, to the side of the road. He soon reached the edge of the near fields, wear the forest began to grow thicker, and crouched down behind a large oak that had apparently been uprooted in a storm last winter. He could see no sign of any activity on the road ahead, and eventually began to move slowly forward again, until he could hear the babble of the creek ahead.

Careful to stay under cover of the thick foliage beside the roadway, Erol cautiously approached the sturdy wooden bridge that crossed the rushing mountain stream. Even in late summer the water was running strongly and the sound masked any noise his approach might have made. He stopped to examine the woods ahead for sentries, and to consider his next move.

The banks of the stream were about 2 meters high at this point, steep and rocky, and he decided he’d make more noise (and be a more vulnerable target) if he tried to climb down and then back up, even assuming he could keep his feet on the algae-slicked rocks in the torrent. Just across the bridge the road curved to the left, around the ruins of a small tower whose jagged remaining wall stood about the height of a man. He could see no sign of Gülvini sentries in the brush or in the trees, but he could hardly expect to, depending on the breed…

He decided he’d have to risk a quick dash across the bridge, and then take cover behind the moss-covered, overgrown stones of the ruin. Feeling exposed, Erol made the dash as quietly as possible, reaching the cover of the ruined tower without apparent notice of any watchers. After a moment to be sure, he slowly worked his way along the south side of the wall, where it’s jagged top began to dip down toward the ground, until he had a decent view of the clearing Cris had mentioned on the other side of the road. Despite the shrubs and trees between the clearing and the road, he was able to make out four small gülvini, and one much larger one, gathered around a small campfire. They appeared to be gnawing at the remains of some woodland creature, hands and mouths dripping red.

The smaller ones were clearly gül-gramlini, with their white, tawny-streaked fur and almost wolfish features. That was something, Erol thought with a silent laugh; they were the least violent of the gülvini, and the ones most prone to actually treating with other races. Sometimes. But they were just as fierce and deadly as any of their cousins when it came to a fight, as he knew from experience, having fought the breed more than once in the arena.

The larger gül he was less sure of, as it had its back to him. Certainly one of the larger breeds, either gül-bogaba or gül-hovgavu, and given what he could see of its coloring, he was afraid it was the latter. The largest and most psychotic of the gül subspecies. He’d fought those, too, in the Games, and was glad there seemed to be just the one. No doubt the leader of this little group, he thought… whenever the breeds mixed, the bigger ones usually enslaved the smaller ones.

Cris had said he saw at least six of the small gülvini, which meant there might be a couple of more around somewhere. Of course Cris was young, and excitable, and high on an adrenaline rush, and could have easily inflated the numbers in his own head. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that these war-like creatures wouldn’t have posted look-outs in unknown territory. Best to assume there were more…

Even as he was thinking this, Erol was moving further along the ever-lower ruined wall, trying to get a different angle on the clearing, to see if he could spot others that might be hidden by trees. Whether it was some small noise, or just his well-honed battle instincts, Erol could never say afterwards; but whatever the reason, he turned suddenly to find himself staring into the startled face of a gül on the other side of the now half-meter high wall.

With a silent curse he leapt from his crouch, bringing his trident around for a quick thrust even as the gül brought up his own spear. He knocked the blocking weapon aside, and took the creature in the chest. It went down with a shriek of pain and fury, to lay gasping wetly, coughing up blood amongst the stones and grasses inside the ruined ring. Erol cursed aloud now, all hope of ending the encounter unnoticed by the other gülvini having died with that shriek. He took no more than an instant to glance toward  the clearing, where the dying gül’s companions were leaping up and seizing weapons, before he was dashing back behind the ruined wall and then sprinting for the bridge.

He was a fast runner, and certainly possessed longer legs than the gül, at least the small ones… it was less than half a kilometer to the manor… he might just make it. Assuming they had no bows, of course. He felt his back itch at the thought, and just as his feet hit the wooden planks to the bridge, he caught a movement out of the corner of his left eye – a small white shape leaping from a tree across the road behind him. There had been six after all, he thought. Although why they’d missed him crossing the bridge he couldn’t imagine.

He was across the bridge and running hard now, in the steady rhythm they taught you in the Legions that conserved energy for the long haul. Ahead he could see the sunlight at the end of the shaded tunnel the forest made of the road, where it opened into the fields and meadows of the manor’s assart. Once into the light he’d be better than halfway there. The sounds of something gaining on him grew. He risked a glance back, and saw the hulking shape of the gül-hovgavu (and there was now no doubt about that) perhaps ten meters behind him. He put on a burst of speed.

But even as he sprinted into the sunlight he realized he wasn’t going to make it. He could see the palisade ahead, but it was too far and the Black Gül was almost on him as he passed the fallen oak. With hardly a conscious thought he skidded to a stop and whirled to far the oncoming beast-man, time seeming to slow around him. He had plenty of time to note the pack of five smaller gülvini, still far back on the road but coming fast, and the play of sunlight on the slaver pouring from the mouth of the black-furred monster bearing down on him, deadly mang held high for a slashing blow.

Erol crouched and the blade hissed, almost slowly it seemed to him, through the air where his head had been. At the same instant he thrust forward with his trident, striking into the leather armor of the beast’s chest, then ripping the points out again. Blood spurted and the creature roared in pain and anger.

Before the gül could pull back for another blow Erol had pivoted and thrust his trident forward again, trying for the disarming strike he’d learned in the arena. The gül tried to block with his mang, as Erol had hoped, and the tines of the trident caught his wrist between them. With a sudden twist, the creature’s weapon went flying from his grip, to land in the grass on the side of the road, and blood poured from a cut along the back of the hand.

Another roar, this time more fury than pain Erol thought, and the gül leaped to retrieve its weapon. Scooping it up and turning in one fluid movement, it was clear the creature intended to slash his opponent across the belly. But Erol was already moving in for his own attack, and this time the trident pierced the unprotected wrist holding the mang. Another twist and the hand came half off, blood spurting in  a red fountain. Almost beautiful in the midday sun, Erol thought dreamily.

The hulking gül, looking surprised more than anything, staggered forward one step, two steps… and on the third step he fell to his knees in the dust of the road, then toppled forward. Blood continued to pump from the almost severed hand, but Erol was already sprinting again, making for the manor’s walls with the pack of five snarling gül-gramlini on his heels.

As the palisade came into view, Erol realized he couldn’t make the gate far enough ahead of his pursuers to allow him to get inside – if they opened the gates for him, they’d be fighting the gül inside the compound. He’d have to make a stand outside, and hope the others could help from the walls… the kid with the short bow, at least might…

But even as these thoughts passed through his mind, Erol saw the gate open slightly, and a single figure slip out. As the gate was pushed shut behind him, Erol realized it was Cris, in the old armor and carrying a hand axe. At the same time he saw Jeb rise up over the points of the palisade wall near the gate and loose an arrow. A meaty thunk, a strangled cry, and Erol realized he had one less enemy to worry about. As he wheeled about to make his stand, next to the pale but determined-looking Cris, he saw the downed gül somewhat down the road, feathered shaft protruding from one shoulder.

The remaining four gül showed no inclination to withdraw – Erol could see that they were maddened by bloodlust and rage. It suddenly came to him that the gül-gramlini were known for a ridged code of “honor,” and that ranged weapons greatly offended that sense. Well, good, he just had time to think… an enraged opponent was not usually a thinking opponent, and that made them easier to kill… then they were on him. Two of the small white creatures went for Erol himself, while the other two closed in on Cris.

Time seemed back to normal for Erol now, although he tried to regain that place where everything slowed down. He thrust his trident at one of his attackers, who counter-struck with his spear, which slid past Erol’s shoulder even as his own weapon tore into the flesh of the creature’s upper arm. It snarled in anger as it’s companion lunged in with its own spear on Erol’s left, a blow he managed to block with his trident. This caused the gül to stumble forward, and Erol took advantage of the momentary imbalance to deliver a slashing wound to that creature’s arm as well.

Meanwhile Cris had swung his axe at the nearest of his opponents, knocking aside the beastman’s spear and thunking solidly into the armor on his hip. The creature staggered back, with a hiss, blood flowing from the wound, only to immediately leap in again to attack. Cris blocked the spear with his round shield, and almost blocked his second opponents thrust as well. But the point slipped past his guard, and gouged a burning line across his left elbow.

Another arrow from Jeb missed one of Cris’ opponents, but the next one took one of Erol’s in the abdomen, even as he succeeded in dodging the creature’s attack. The gül went down, writhing in agony for a moment before twitching into stillness. The remaining gül counter-struck again, as Erol thrust his trident at him, and this time Erol felt the spear punch through his light armor, plowing a burning furrow along his left side. But his own thrust took the gül full in the chest, and it went down gurgling blood.

Cris’ wound only seemed to energize him, as he leaped once again to the attack, dodging a gül’s counter thrust and driving his axe into the creature’s shoulder. This caused the gül to lose his grip on his spear, which clattered to the ground between them. Cris whirled to meet the attack of the other gül, and managed to land a glancing blow to the abdomen, but took another spear thrust himself, this time along his forearm, causing a gush of blood. He staggered back, and suddenly everything started to spin, and he felt very cold. As he slipped into unconsciousness the last thing he saw was the gül twisting away as an arrow narrowly missed him.

Erol saw Cris go down, just as he put his own last opponent down with a ripping thrust into the elbow that severed a major artery. Pulling his trident free, he was leaping to Cris’ aid before his last kill had even hit the ground. He saw the creature dodge the arrow that Jeb had loosed at him, and his own trident thrust forced the beastman to drop his spear and kept him from finishing off the downed boy.

Erol managed to get himself between the gül and Cris just as another arrow came from above, narrowly missing his own head and completely missing the growling gül, who had drawn a wicked looking mankar from its sheath.

“In the Hunter’s name, Jeb,” he shouted in annoyance , ” I have enough on my hands without having to worry about an arrow in the back from a friend!”

“Sorry,” the farm lad yelled back, but Erol was already leaping forward to the attack, dropping his trident and drawing his gladius. He’d rather have had his battle-axe, of course, but he’d make due…

And he did, knocking aside the counter attack and driving his short sword into the gül’s belly. As the creature fell at his feet he could hear the gates swing open behind him and Benek rushing out to Cris’ side. After making sure his last opponent wasn’t getting up anytime soon, Erol also turned to his fallen companion.

The boy had lost a fair amount of blood, but between the two they managed to staunch the flow and  carry him into the manor house. Hopefully help, in the form of the rest of the Hand of Fortune, would be here by tomorrow, and Vulk could make sure the boy didn’t take a fever. Until then his field training, and the knowledge of three youths raised on farms, would have to do.

Just as Erol finished wrapping his injury, Cris opened his eyes and looked around blearily. “What happened…?”

“You disobeyed orders,” Erol said gruffly, pressing the boy back when he tried to sit up.

“But they were right behind you,” Cris whispered, gravel-voiced. “We couldn’t open the gates… couldn’t leave you out there… alone…”

“I didn’t say you didn’t do well,” Erol smiled as he stood up. “Now get some rest. Everything is under control, at least for the moment.”

Leaving the injured youth to his sick bed, Erol took Jeb and his amazing short bow out to check on the bodies of the gülvini. By the time they got to them, all but one was dead, bled out  in the dusty country road. He decided it was worth keeping the one survivor alive, if he could, at least long enough for questioning. If there were more of their kind around, he wanted to know about it. In any case, they would keep a watch in the lookout tower until help arrived…

 

Answering Drake’s summons, the group gathered at his townhouse/apothecary shop by mid-morning. As they entered the still sparsely furnished living area the distant sounds of the Khundari masons, whistling their traditional working songs, could be heard on the cool mountain breeze blowing in from the east. While Brann frolicked in his enclosed garden, Drake seated his friends around the large dining table off the kitchen.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I sent my cousin up to the new manor, to help Erol and the lads get things in order, or I’d have had him start the fire in my room last night and most likely he’d have missed this,” he said, gesturing to a charred scrap of paper in the center of the table. “Apparently my uncle burned those of his papers that he didn’t carry away with him when he fled… but he was in a hurry, and several bits survived. None of any real interest, except this one…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

♦ ♦ ♦

It took the three friends and their newest ally, Korwin, several minutes to decipher the broken text, and come to the same conclusion Drake had already reached – Querdon Bartyne had discovered something that he considered potentially very valuable, and he wanted to keep it from his co-conspirator, the late Constable Ser Danyes and the Constables “masters.” That last comment alone might bear further thought…

“But who is this ‘Prince of the North’ he refers to,” Korwin asked. “I’m not terribly familiar with legends of the Outer Lands…” The others ignored this unconscious Imperial-centric comment, although Vulk did shoot him an annoyed glare.

“The name rings a bell,” Mariala replied, frowning into space. “But I’m not sure…”

“It refers to some ancient Khundari prince,” grunted Devrik, diffidently. “Back at the end of the Age of Chaos. He was some big master craftsman-type, and he and his older brother got in a tussle over who should rule what was left of their kingdom after half of it was destroyed in the Great Cataclysm. The prince eventually took off with a lot of artifacts and weapons and tools, and was never seen again…”

“That’s right, I remember now,” Mariala agreed. “The Lost Prince of Akazdurön, it’s a very popular legend among the more northern Khundari peoples. They believe this Prince… Dhaur’azym, I think he was named… will be reincarnated one day and lead his people to rebuild the lost kingdom. I don’t remember the details, I’m more familiar with the Khundari of the United Realms, I’m afraid.”

“I hadn’t put that together,” Drake said, “but now that I think about it, growing up I heard lots of tales about the Khundari… Dür was originally one of their outpost forts, and rumors of buried treasure always stick to places like this… one of the few memories I have from before my father died was me and Alakor digging up the garden, looking for Khundari treasure.

“Anyway, I remember hearing one tale about a great mason who made his hidden workshop here… he could supposedly make fortifications as indestructible as the Ancients’ own torlixam. We never gave it much credence, of course – the keep is very well built, and obviously by Khundari hands, but the stone is just stone. Well cut and fitted, but hardly indestructible. I mean, look at the repairs my brother is having completed right now.”

The group spent some more time discussing what exactly this fragment might mean, and what they should do about it. Some thought they should pursue this “traitorous cur” Rimbor, whoever he might be, while others thought it would make more sense to locate the “tomb,” if that’s what it was, that Querdon had discovered. In the end, it was agreed to search the basement for the implied secret entrance to the “escape route” mentioned.

Since Drake had removed most of his late uncle’s lab equipment (that’s how he liked to think of him, privately – as already deceased), the space was mostly empty, and it took Mariala very little time to locate the hidden catch in the stonework that opened a well-built hidden door. Devrik and Vulk each lit a torch, from the several piled in the corner, and the party entered the dark, dirt-floored passageway beyond the door. Devrik took the lead, with Vulk bringing up the rear, but when the cantor motioned Drake to move ahead of him, his friend just smiled and shook his head.

“Sorry, my friend,” he answered Vulk’s frown. “I’m out of this business, at least for now, so I have no need to force myself to go into that small, dark underground passage. But you enjoy! I’ll have a nice pot of chocolate ready for you all, when you return.”

Vulk tried to convince his friend that they needed him, that it was his uncle’s shit they were investigating, that it was perfectly safe… but with the others’ impatient calls to get a move on, and Drake’s adamant refusal to reconsider, he was forced to give it up and enter the passageway. Behind him, Drake spiked the door open with a sturdy shim and watched as the torchlight faded into the darkness.

Trudging back up the stairs from the basement, having left a torch lit in case his friends needed a beacon when they returned, Drake felt a monetary twinge of regret… he really did wonder what they might find down there, and a part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind and hare off after them. Caution be damned! But then the memory of a seemingly endless time trapped in darkness, not knowing if he was alive or dead, surged up and he shuddered. No, he never wanted to risk that sensationless void ever again!

It was at that moment, as he stepped into the kitchen to start the chocolate, that the world suddenly went black –

♦ ♦ ♦

Meanwhile, moving deeper underground, the Hand of Fortune found that the packed dirt floor and timbered walls of the narrow passage soon intersected an older, stone-lined passageway. The newer construction seemed to have broken into the older at some sort of juncture, with two of the three ways blocked by collapsed rubble. Moving forward, the remaining corridor of rough, dark gray stone sloped gently downward. Both the walls and rough-hewed stone floor were surprisingly dry.

After several hundred feet the passage ended in an opening into what was clearly a natural system of caves. The floor had been somewhat smoothed and worked, as had a few places along the walls, but for the most part is was as nature had made it. The sound of dripping water could now be heard, and the walls were moist with visible water. For the next two hours the group explored the twisting, turning passages of the cave system, and they soon came to rely on Korwin’s eidetic memory skills to keep track of where they’d been.

At one point, Vulk paused to consider the shifting, flickering shadows cast by the torches, thinking “Maybe we should stop and illuminate them to make sure nothing is hiding there.” As his friends quickly outpaced him, a voice in his head answered, “Yeah, right. What do you expect to be hiding there, ninja dwarves?” Scoffing at the ridiculousness of that idea, Vulk jogged ahead, catching up with his friends.

Going deeper, the walls and floors became wetter and covered in various slimes, molds and fungi. The footing was increasingly treacherous, and although passages would widened to a promising degree, they all soon narrowed again, eventually terminating in dead ends. The last one almost proved to be literally so.

Devrik, in the lead as always, jerked to a sudden stop just as he was about to enter a large cavern. Less than a foot in front of him the torchlight revealed a floor covered in a sickly pale mass of… something fungus-like. Looking up, he saw that the walls and even the ceiling of the cavern were covered in the same slowly pulsating, undulating mass. Small puckers in the surface were a sickly reddish-purple, like – well, the comparison was obvious and disgusting. Remembering the nasty spore-cloud that almost killed Drake back on Baylora’s island, he was disinclined to investigate any more closely. The others all agreed, and they backed slowly away from the potential death trap.

Moving back up through the cave system, they eventually came to a section of passages and small chambers that showed signs of recent activity. Various mushrooms and other fungi, as well as some molds and algae were clearly being farmed in this area – the growth was too regular and defined. They soon stumbled across various tools and gear that were clearly meant to be used in cultivating this underground “garden.” Korwin again proved, if not exactly useful, at least interesting, when he picked up a trowel and concentrated on it for several minutes.

“Psychometry,” Devrik explained to the others. “He was telling me about it the other day… sometimes he can “read” the history of an object, or see events that happened near it. It’s something he’s just learned to use, apparently, so don’t expect much.”

Despite his relative inexperience with the technique, Korwin did see an image: an older, sour-looking man with stringy dark hair and a pinched face, using the trowel to tend a row of mushrooms… of course, since no one in the group had ever met Querdon Bartyne, they couldn’t say if that was who it was. But the inference was clear – Drake’s unpleasant relative had been cultivating various sources for his apothecary trade down here, for both the legal and illegal halves, no doubt. Perhaps it was while doing this that he discovered… whatever he had discovered.

After more wandering through the twisting caverns of this underground labyrinth they came to a large chamber of several levels, with stone shelves acting as ramps both up and down, and a truly horrendous stench.

“Dear gods,” Mariala gasped, “what in the Void died down here?!”

But while Devrik was as repulsed as the others by the smell of rotting flesh, he was more concerned with the faint chittering and rustling sounds he could hear coming from the right… an all too familiar chittering, he feared. Drawing his sword, he moved forward cautiously, and after a moment Mariala shrugged and followed him. Neither Vulk nor Korwin seemed anxious to know what lay in the shadowy pit they could just make out.

Following the ramp down into the depression, maybe twelve feet below the level of the chamber floor, they found a recess beneath another shelf of stone, covered in closely set iron bars. The smell was far more concentrated down here, and both Devrik and Mariala almost gagged as he thrust his torch forward. In the flickering light they saw what lay beyond the bars – a nest of tolaxta, maybe a score of them, although it was hard to tell since they were all dead and mostly dismembered and chewed up. Dead, that is, except for two, who broke off their gnawing on the bones of their siblings while warily eyeing one another, to glare at the sudden light and movement.

Devrik was very much aware of how fast these damn Eaters of Eyes could move, so he was surprised at the slow dash they made towards the bars and fresh prey. It’s true, they moved faster than most creatures their size, even now, but it was nothing compared to what he and the others had faced in that Zalik-mal hideout in Zebarin. And they didn’t even try to leap, but instead bit and scrabbled at the bars, trying to get to him. His left eye twitched involuntarily, but he didn’t step back from the bars, even as Mariala did.

Eventually Vulk and Korwin joined them, despite the stench, and they briefly discussed the idea of killing the obviously trapped creatures. They guessed that, whoever was responsible for keeping this apparently common Vortex-related security system functioning, they had either died in the Dür massacre, or fled from it. In either case, the vicious little beasts hadn’t been fed in quite awhile, and had turned on one another, with only these two strongest surviving. Although not for much longer, from the looks of it.

Devrik wasn’t feeling too merciful toward tolaxta, and no one else wanted to linger, so the friends headed quickly back up the ramp to the main chamber, leaving the two animals hissing and snapping behind them. The last thing Devrik heard ask he walked away was a sudden squeal and a wet, ripping sound. And then there was one, he thought with a satisfied grin.

Now the group decided to take the upward reaching stone shelf/ramp on the left side of the chamber, and this soon proved to be what they’d been looking for. There were obvious signs of recent widening, and as the passage narrowed it began to slope steeply downward, coming to an end in a ragged hole that pierced a masonry wall of well-dressed stone. Stepping over the rubble around the opening, the group found themselves in a 10-foot wide corridor, with a barrel ceiling about eight feet high, stretching into darkness to both the right and left.

“This is the most ancient Khundari stonework I think I’ve ever seen,” Vulk whispered to his friends. The atmosphere of dignified age seemed to call for whispers…

After a brief discussion, the group turned  right and made their way down the corridor to where it made a sharp turn right. An alcove near the bend had clearly once held a statue of some sort, but was empty now except for debris and dust. As the new corridor stretched before them they noted a carved frieze of stylized Khundari symbols running down both sides, near the base of the ceiling’s vaulting.

Eventually another sharp right brought them into a very large chamber, which even two torches could not illuminate completely. It seemed square, perhaps 70 feet across, with a large square column, 20 feet on a side, rising up in the center of the space, from floor to the barrel-vaulted ceiling, which was perhaps 20 feet high.

Deep shadows flickered around the group as they stood staring at what lay ahead of them, to their left: a stone dais, perhaps 20 feet wide, was set in the back wall, between two square half-pillars. Three steps, covered in a faded, torn, and rotting carpet, deep red with gold trim, lead up to it on three sides. In the center sat a great stone sarcophagus, carved with exquisite artistry.

“The tomb of the Lost Prince, I’m guessing,” Vulk said quietly. The others nodded silent agreement.

Around the walls of the room, including those formed by the great central column, a bas-relief frieze ran. It seemed to depict scenes from the life of an ancient Khundari people, with one figure always larger and more imposing than any other… the occupant of the tomb, perhaps. On the section directly in back of and over the sarcophagus the figure was posed majestically, his gaze looking out and up to some unknowable distance, a mysterious tool or artifact in each hand. Or maybe one of them was a scepter? Hard to say…

Mariala quickly cast a spell to detect any arcane energies that might be present, and got a strong sense of magic from the area of the sarcophagus, and a milder sense of power, very faint, from the central pillar opposite the dais.

“Obviously the death trap will come from the pillar, when you try to open the sarcophagus,” Vulk said, being careful not to get between the two.

No one seemed anxious to get too close to the dais and its contents, so they spread out around the chamber, examining it in detail. Devrik focused on examining the sarcophagus from the foot of the stairs, careful not to step on the wide ceramic tiles set there. Vulk kept nervously peering into the dancing shadows that filled the corners of room, while Mariala examined the frieze more closely. Korwin discovered a cache of tools and torches stacked up neatly against the central pillar, on the far side from where they’d entered the room (there seemed to be at least two other exits that they could see). Mariala picked up one of the piled torches and lit it from Vulk’s, to better see the friezes.

As they moved about the room they quietly discussed their course of action. Devrik observed seven circular disks of carved stone set along the front edge of the sarcophagus, just below the lid. The central one was large, and intact, but the smaller ones, three to each side, appeared to have been chiseled to pieces.

“The last seal?” he asked, as the others gathered around at his quiet call. Mariala pointed out that there was one more damaged seal on the short edge of the sarcophagus (head or foot?), at which point Vulk noted the ninth seal on the other side, also damaged.

“Yes, it seems likely that this is the ‘last seal’ that Bartyne wrote of,” he said. “The one he couldn’t break without whatever that Rimbor fellow had, or knew…”

“But he seemed to think he could break it, eventually,” Devrik pointed out. “If so, then we certainly can…”

“But should we?” Vulk asked, frowning. “This is a tomb, after all. I’m not at all sure we should try to open the sarcophagus.”

“When did you get suddenly squeamish about, um, ‘archeological excavation’?” Mariala asked in surprise. “We’ve certainly taken our share of valuables from buried temples, tombs, what have you…”

“I don’t think a Naventhülian temple or the crypt of some undead monster really counts for much, as legitimate resting places go,” he replied. “And the Ancients don’t count at all. But this is a different matter, even as old as it appears to be… If we can find treasure that was buried along with this prince, I’m all for taking that, don’t get me wrong. But I see no need to disturb his bones!”

There ensued a brief discussion about the differences between grave robbing and archeological liberating, during which Devrik quietly made an attempt to dispel whatever enchantment guarded the sarcophagus. He didn’t mention it to the others until Mariala decided to try and do the same, after getting Vulk to agree they’d just look, and not disturb anyone’s bones. When she failed, he shrugged and admitted that he’d failed as well, ignoring the irate yammering about unilateral actions.

It was at this point that someone realized the three T’ara Kul could try to pool their energies and perhaps succeed where no single one of them had. Vulk again raised his objections to opening the actual grave, and suggested they focus their efforts on the seemingly weaker magic of the central pillar. Agreeing that this made sense, (and thinking privately that if it worked there, they could always try it on the sarcophagus), the three mages turned to face the pillar.

With Korwin at the center, Mariala to his left and Devrik to his right, the they each concentrated on merging their powers. Vulk stood well to the side, beyond Devrik (and hopefully out of range of any unfortunate side effects that might be coming), as he began his ritual to call Kasira’s blessing down on his friends’ attempt.

It was a simple spell, really, even with the effort to channel their energies together, and it took only seconds to cast. Just as Korwin released the combined energies at the wall, there came a guttural, shouted “NO!” and the shadows around them came suddenly to life! From all sides the group found themselves facing five short, very solidly built shadows in the shape of men.

When the first one struck a blindingly fast blow to Vulk’s chest with his open palm, sending him reeling backwards, he realized they weren’t shadows; just men dressed all in black – no, not men, Khundari! Even their beards were wrapped in black cloth, braided to hold them tight and close, and they wore some sort of light breastplate, with bracers on their forearms, all a flat black that seemed to absorb the light, as did their black clothes.

Two of the mysterious figures were attacking Devrik, and one each went for Korwin and Mariala. Devrik suffered one blow to the thigh that almost staggered him, but his counterstrike with his battlesword sent the second figure crashing to the ground unconscious and bleeding. Mariala and Korwin both managed to avoid the blurred, open-handed blows that were aimed at them, leaping back in surprise.

Mariala quickly cast her go-to spell in these situations, and was glad for all the practice she’d had – her mind was clear and precise, despite the fear, and the Fire Nerves spell brought her attacker to the ground in a writhing heap. She was a bit unnerved, however, by the utter silence with which he suffered what she knew to be agonizing pain.

Korwin cast a Frostblade spell, causing a blade of shimmering ice to form around his hand, and lunged at his own attacker, who leapt back in his turn, avoiding the blow. Devrik turned his full attention on his remaining attacker, who also avoided being struck – the agility and speed of these Khundari was totally unexpected. Strong that race was, certainly, and powerful warriors… but this kind of fighting, these moves…

The remaining shadow fighters prepared to leap at their targets once more, but before they could a deep, grinding rumble drew everyone’s attention to the pillar in the center of the room. The side of the pillar facing the dais was swiftly sinking into the floor, revealing a dark passage ten feet wide, with steps going down. Even as they all watched a dim light began to glow somewhere within the opening, and it silhouetted a massive shape that was slowly moving up the stairs. As it stepped into the light of the three torches, now laying on the floor, the same thought crossed the minds 0f all present: oh shit!

The thing was easily 12 feet tall, and massive, both wide and thick. It was roughly humanoid in shape, but only roughly, as it lacked much in the way of detail. There appeared to be only two indentations where the eyes would be, although these glowed with a red light, and when the mouth opened in an almost subsonic roar, it was not more than a gash across the thing’s face. The hands had three thick fingers and a thumb, while the feet had three splayed toes and some sort of dewclaw. The creature’s hide was a deep reddish brown, and looked more like rammed earth than skin. As it moved, cracks appeared in that hide, and a glowing orange substance oozed up to fill them, quickly darkening and thickening to match the surface. The total effect was of a spider web of glowing fissures that moved in random patterns across the thing’s surface, like magma leaking up from beneath a crust of hardened lava. And heat rolled off it in waves.

In the instant it took for all of this to register on the Hand of Fortune, the shadow fighters leapt again to the attack. But not, this time, at the Hand. Instead, two of them leapt upon the lumbering creature, drawing swords from sheathes on their backs as they did so. One of the dwarven fighters was sent flying back into the shadows by a tremendous blow from one of those massive arms, but the other managed to carve a slice out of the creature’s hide before bouncing away again. But even as he touched down lightly on the stone floor, the glowing magma began to fill and repair the wound. The Guardian lumbered forward…

Mariala cast a spell of confusion at the beast, but it seemed to have no effect. Korwin, seeing an opportunity, slipped behind the behemoth as it moved past him, dashing down the stairs. Devrik, of course, leapt to the attack and aimed a mighty two-handed blow at the monstrous form. Vulk, realizing he was going to be of little use as a swordsman in this fight, darted to where the third Khundari was trying to stop the bleeding of his companion downed by Devrik. Recognizing Vulk’s offer, the warrior immediately dove into the fight, drawing his own sword as he went.

But the battle appeared very one-sided. For every wound they managed to inflict, the magma soon healed it, and a blow from those massive arms threatened to decapitate someone if it ever landed. The first shadow fighter came limping back into the fray as Devrik aimed another blow at the damned thing, only to miss as it began to turn away. Its counter blow, though glancing, clipped his hand, breaking bone, tearing open flesh, and sending his sword flying to land with a clang on the steps of the dais.

What caused the monster to turn was Korwin. In the small chamber within and below the central pillar he had found a stone brazier full of glowing pebbles, the source of the light from within, and a statue of a noble Khundari, holding a stone tray on which rested a single object. It was about 18″ long, a narrow cylinder of smooth, white metal that flared into a bell shape at one end. Without thinking, Korwin reached for it…

In that instant, two things happened. The Guardian stopped its forward march and turned back toward the chamber it had just left, moving to regain the stairs. And Kowrin felt a presence in his mind, an alien intelligence, not necessarily hostile, but definitely in opposition to him. His mind reached out and battle was joined…

Above, the Guardian moved to crush the threat to its Purpose… it had no thoughts, as such, and little that might be called a mind, but it did have a Purpose. Devrik, despite the pain of his damaged hand, attempted to cast a fireball at the behemoth. But his control was imperfect, and the damn thing misfired, exploding against his own breastplate. He cursed furiously as he scrambled for his sword.

If Mariala had not cast another spell of confusion at that same moment, it is almost certain the Guardian’s Purpose would have been fulfilled, and Korwin would have  become a red smear. But instead the Guardian paused… it had no real mind to be confused, but it did have a Purpose, and suddenly that Purpose was… unclear… it shook its massive head… which way…?

in the chamber below Kowrin again reached out with his mind to force the intelligence in this Ancient artifact (for he knew now with certainty that that is what it was) to bend to his will. And this time, with a snap, it did. Suddenly he knew what it was and how to use it… At that moment the Guardian above shook off its confusion and took the first step down the stairs. Korwin aimed the device at the creature and issued the mental trigger.

Nothing visible happened at first… there was an unpleasant ultrasonic hum that set the nerves on edge, but no flash of light, no beam of energy. Then, as the Guardian lifted its foot for the second step, the hide on its torso, head and arms (which were reaching down for the intruder) began to turn white, as if all the color was being leached from it. In an instant the transformation was complete, and in that same instant Korwin realized he’d made a small tactical error. The upper part of the Guardian had been turned to torlixam, as he’d expected, but that meant it was much too heavy for the surviving lower body to support, and too unbalanced…

As the massive pseudo-stone corpse toppled down towards him, Korwin took a flying leap, got one foot on the head, and managed to roll across the back as the thing slammed into the floor. By the time his friends had moved past the steaming remains of the Guardian’s lower half and were able to peer down at him, Kowrin was posed jauntily on top of the fallen creature, his weapon held high and grin of triumph on his face.

♦ ♦ ♦

By the time they got everyone’s wounds tended to and everyone was able to breathe for a moment, things had calmed down enough for conversation instead of battle. The Khundari explained that they had been stalking the group, thinking they were the ones intending to desecrate the holy resting place of their Lost Prince. It seemed that an outlaw Khundari priest, named Rimbor, had discovered ancient clues revealing the location of the Tomb, and had shared that information with an Umantari who was in a position to help him.

Eventually, however, he had realized the man was of an evil bent; in the end Rimbor had balked at the final breaching of the wards, and fled from his patron. But he had feared the man would nonetheless find a way to breach that seal, and so had confessed his guilt to a priest of Gheas. When word reached the Prince of Dürkon, Rhogûn the Young, he had dispatched a squad of his most skilled Shadow Warriors.

Arriving under the cover provided by the Khundari masons, the seven members of the team had begun to reconnoiter. They knew it was an apothecary they sought, and fixated on Drake and his companions. They made there own way into the Tomb this morning, intent on putting an end to any plans to further desecrate the site. But on hearing the friends talk, they realized they were not the ones they sought, and so they waited, and listened further. Vulk’s clear respect for the dead gave them pause, and it was only when they realized that the group intended to open the Chamber of the Guardian that they had moved to try and stop them. They hadn’t known the precise nature of the Guardian, but they knew it would be powerful, deadly, and indiscriminate!

“But that artifact you hold,” Lekorm, the leader of the Shadow Warriors said, turning to Korwin, “is the rightful property of the heirs of Akazdurön. I cannot let you leave here with it in you r possession.”

Before his friends could say or do anything hasty, Korwin immediately handed the device over to the Khundari, with a bow and a smile. The Shadow Warrior seemed almost as surprised as the humans.

“Of course it’s yours,” Korwin agreed with a shrug. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to keep it from your Prince.”

“And I won’t mind being owed a big honking favor by the Khundari, either,” he murmured to the others as they all made their way back up to Drakes apothecary shop.

Along the way, Mariala pulled Vulk aside. “Lekorm said there were seven in his team,” she whispered. “But there are only five here. Where are the other two?”

Drake’s announcement that he intended to “retire” from active participation in the adventures of the Hand of Fortune caused quite a stir amongst his friends. Vulk in particular was dismayed to discover that his “little buddy” would no longer be at his side. The group wrangled over this for the rest of the evening, with some trying to convince him he was over-reacting to his recent bout of being turned to organic stone, and others simply offering comfort and support. But in the end he was adamant.

“I will always be there for you, my friends,” he assured them. “But I had a lot of time to think while I was trapped in my frozen body… not sure if I was dead, or lost in the Void, or what… I realized I’ve been incredibly lucky, both as a mercenary and as an adventurer. But this was a warning from Kasira, that my luck has run out, at least in this regard.

“So, I’m going to stay here, run the apothecary shop, and get really serious about my research. I have several ideas for things that might make a difference in a fight, and I’ll send those along to you, as they develop. But my main concern is perfecting the healing powers of the Baylorium… in the long run I think that may be the most important thing I’ll ever do.”

Even Vulk couldn’t argue with that, though he remained clearly unhappy. Still recovering from his latest brush with the Shadow of the undead, he was inclined to take his disgruntlement out on Korwin, who was himself slowly recovering from his own ordeal. Fortunately Vulk remained quite busy tending to the spiritual needs of the people of Dür, so their contact was minimal.

Mariala spent some time with Korwin, especially discussing the philosophical and practical aspects of her Ring of Water Elemental Control… he seemed particularly fascinated by her certainty that it was the same elemental that was summoned each time she used the ring. But most of Mariala’s time was spent deeply engrossed in her effort to decrypt the book they had discovered in the torture chamber beneath the keep.

It was actually Devrik who spent the most time with the recuperating water mage. Despite, or maybe because of, the opposing elemental magics they wielded, the two seemed to share a wary fascination for one another. Raven couldn’t decide if it was just a matter of each one sizing up the opposition, a macho interest in who’d win in a fight, or the beginning of a real friendship. She figured time would tell…

Arrangements had already been  made with Ser Alakor for Raven to take up residence in Dor Dür for the remainder of her pregnancy, and Black Hawk had agreed to stay as well, to act as her guardian. He would also take duty with the keep’s garrison. While she would have liked to have told both her husband and brother what they could do with this “guardian” crap, Raven’s growing belly had finally started to affect her ability to move and fight; she swallowed the irritation, and accepted the help.

The money that the group had discovered along with the encoded book had been turned over to the new Constable, which quickly proved to be a real boon to Ser Alakor. Repairs had been started on the keep over a year ago, but Ser Danyes had been diverting the funds to his own purposes in the last several months of his life. While scaffolding still covered parts of the structure, no work had been done all summer. Alakor had been afraid he’d have to either petition the Earl of Burnan for more funds or levy a tax on the town – neither seemed a good way to start his tenure.

But with the hidden stash of his predecessor, he could not only finish the repairs but also provide some assistance to the town itself, which had been sadly neglected. As if to confirm that Kasira smiled on him, a band of wandering Khundari arrived in town the very day he had thought to send to Vinkara for stonemasons. They were traveling south to the United Realms of Karac, seeking employment from any of the princes there, but were more than happy to stop awhile in Dür. Especially since the keep had originally been of Khundari construction, and they were adamant that the repairs could only be done truly well by Khundari. Within a day, the scaffolding was alive with dwarven workers, singing as they worked.

The day after the Khundari started working on the repairs to the keep, the new Eldari cantor for the local temple arrived. She had been dispatched from Tendus at Vulk’s urgent request, and arrived with two acolytes in tow. Vulk was more than happy to spend a day going over the affairs of the parish with Cantor Erina Kunora and then to leave them all in her capable hands. While he knew the work was important, and he’d been more than conscientious in fulfilling his duties, being the spiritual leader of a small backwater mountain town was definitely not where his calling lay!

Several days before that, Erol, Cris and Drake rode out to Tarich Manor so that Drake could finally assess his new property. Nestled in a remote mountain valley, it did indeed prove to be perfect for foraging for herbs and other plants in the surrounding forests. Having been without a master for several years, the property had run somewhat to seed, the caretaker being rather elderly and with no help. Drake decided to ride back to Dür and send his cousin and some sturdy lads out to get things in shape. Erol and Cris agreed to stay behind to get things started.

Returning to Dür, Drake quickly dispatched Danyes and three sons of local farmers back to Tarich Manor. The farm lads, having no hope of inheriting, being the youngest of their families, hoped to earn the post of Baliff from Drake… or Draik, he supposed he should start thinking of himself again. That night was cooler than any since he had arrived back home, and Draik decided a fire was in order in his bedroom.

While cleaning out the great pile of ash, however, he discovered something rather interesting… apparently his uncle had burned many of his papers that last night, but not everything was utterly destroyed… This was worth getting his friends together to see he decided, first thing tomorrow…

 

With the former Constable of Dür hanged and no longer a threat, the Hand of Fortune left Kolosür the next day, joining Ser Alakor, his ten new yeomen, and the newly refreshed Hand of Vengeance for the journey to Dor Dür. Both Drake and his brother would have left as soon as the trial was over, nine days ago, but were convinced by friends and advisors that such an abrupt departure, after the bestowing of such great rewards, would be… impolitic, at best. But both felt an urgent need to return to their childhood home to be sure their vile uncle didn’t escape justice.

To that end Drake talked Alakor into letting Vulk and Devrik open a Nitaran Vortex just a few hours ride from Kolosür. The mercenaries, however, were leery of such an arcane mode of travel and threatened to mutiny when informed of it. Eventually Alakor, Marik and Vulk were able to calm their fears long enough to get the whole cavalcade of 40 people, 60 horses, and three mules through the portal, though it strained the energies of both Vulk and Devrik to do so.

They arrived atop a low mounded hill at the center of a large clearing surrounded by thick woods. The only break in the trees was to the southwest, where they opened onto a vista of meadow and rolling cropland.

“Ah,” said Drake and Alakor in unison. “The Elvenwood!”

“This is the Elf’s Mound we’re on,” Drake continued to his friends as their horses ambled down the gentle slope. “It lies in the heart of the Elvenwood, a dense wood that lies just south of Dor Dür. It is believed to be an ancient Telnori site, and full of Telnori magic. The children of the village would dare each other to spend a night in here on a clear, moonless night – that’s when the ghostly spirits of the Star Folk are said to rise out of the mound and hold a feast in the clearing. And they just might take any mortal who saw them back to the Other Side!”

Once everyone was through the portal, the cavalcade moved out of the woods and onto the narrow dirt road that led north a short distance, into the small village that gathered at the foot of the bluff on which rose the tower of Dor Dür. The village, however, was strangely silent, and almost deserted… the few women or children they glimpsed were soon vanished behind slammed doors or hurriedly shuttered windows. It was with a growing sense of unease that the party approached the main gate in the curtain wall that stretched across the foot of the bluff.

Gathered outside the open gate was a cluster of perhaps forty men, peasant farmers and rustic tradesmen by their dress and crude weapons – pitchforks, scythes and pole hooks. Muttering and staring up at the dark gray, eight-sided tower, with its verdigris green copper roof, it took a moment before they noticed the large party of horsemen approaching. When they did, they whirled about in sudden alarm, weapons brandished inexpertly but forcefully, eyes white-rimmed and panicked.

“Halt!” squeaked one man, more-or-less thrust forward by his fellows. He was better dressed than most, if still in muted homespun browns and greens, and was clearly viewed as their leader. But before the man could say more, Alakor rode forward, signaling his followers to stop, and announced himself.

“I am Ser Alakor Bartyne, the newly appointed Constable of Dür, by judgement of His Grace, the Earl Burnan. Who are you to block my entrance into that which is now mine to hold ?”

“Oh, I, umm… we didn’t know,” sputtered the man, seeming both relieved and confused. “I am Roderog Hullman, the Reeve of Dür village, milord; these are the good men of the, er, the militia…” he looked embarrassed, whether due to the pathetic nature of his “militia” or because of his next question.

“You’ll understand, milord, I do hope, er, I wonder… that is… um, you have some proof of your claim…?”

Alakor blinked in surprise, but gave no other indication of what he thought of this presumption. He motioned to Vulk, who had been acting as his temporary Herald the past tenday, who rode forward and handed him a packet of papers. Drake, Mariala, Devrik and Erol rode forward with him, and now sat their horses a few paces behind, watching with interest as the little drama unfolded before them.

“You can read, I assume?” asked Alakor dryly as he pulled out a document from the bundle and motioned the man forward.

“Um, yes milord, I have my letters… I have to, to deal with the business–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alakor cut him off, handing down the document. “This is my commission from the Earl, commanding me to take possession of his keep here and to rule this fief in his name. Does this satisfy?”

Reeve Roderog made a show of examining the heavy parchment, with it’s beautifully calligraphed lines and thick seals… more for the benefit of his men than any understanding of the formal Court language. After a moment he handed it respectfully back to Ser Alakor, nodding solemnly.

“Yes, milord, this all looks quite in order… quite proper… er, I–”

Again Alakor cut him off, this time a bit less patiently.

“What is going on here, Reeve Roderog,” he asked. “Why is the… militia… gathered at my gates? Where is the squadron His Majesty sent ahead to seize Danyes Bernan’s co-conspirators and secure the keep?”

“It’s not our fault milord!” the Reeve cried, turning suddenly paler, and stepping back an involuntary foot. The crowd behind him suddenly started muttering again, and nervously hefting their weapons. Alakor took in the situation, and having no desire to begin his new post with a massacre of his own peasants, he motioned Cantor Ser Vulk forward.

It took a few moments of the cantor’s calming rhetoric and soothing words, but eventually the mob calmed again, and the story of the last several days began to come out. The Reeve mainly told the tale, but was supplemented with additions and corrections from the crowd, as they grew more comfortable with the idea that these armed men were actually here to help them.

It seemed that the Kings Troop had indeed arrived, three days earlier, swooping into the village with no warning, and seizing the keep with no real resistance. They had also seized half-a-dozen or more men of the town, taking them from their homes to be held at the Keep. The general consensus seemed to be that they’d all deserved it – none of those arrested appeared to have been popular with their fellows, having been thick with the Constable and his bully-boys.

“That’s why the militia isn’t, um, quite up to standards, ser,” the Reeve pointed out. “Ser Danyes didn’t like any but his… um, enforcers… to be armed or well trained in arms…”

“Yes, I don’t doubt it,” Alakor sighed. “Now get on with it. Why is the Troop Commander not here to greet me?”

Things had gone well enough for two days, it seemed. The common folk were cautious at first, but when they were convinced that their hated overlord had been convicted of treason and other high crimes, stripped of his titles, and sentenced to hang, they were clearly overjoyed. Perhaps a new era would begin, with a better Constable in charge…

Then, last night, something terrible had happened. In the middle of the night screams were heard echoing from the tower, and those brave enough to go out and look, or peer out their windows, saw flashes of green light flaring in windows up and down the tower. In less than ten minutes, most estimated, the screams and the lights ended. No one slept much the rest of the night, but nothing else happened, and nothing came from the Keep into the town.

At first light the Reeve, shaking and fearful, but knowing his duty, gathered those he could to investigate. Scaling the outer wall was no trouble, and once the gate was opened they made their way cautiously up the gentle slope to the top of the bluff where the tower itself perched on the cliffs overlooking the river. It took longer to get the main doors open, as they were barred from within, but eventually they succeeded, growing ever more fearful, but driven on by the Reeve’s will.

Once inside, however, even he wished they hadn’t succeeded. The entrance hall, with it’s high ceiling and beautiful stained glass window that looked into the inner courtyard, was strewn with the bodies of five of the King’s soldiers, hacked to pieces. But what caused the trembling villagers to finally break and run, was what they found further in… more bodies, but unbloodied, apparently strangled, and other burned and contorted. This clearly uncanny massacre was too much for these simple folk, and even the Reeve didn’t object to a very sudden withdrawal into the morning light.

The doors were closed, the men retreated beyond the outer gate, and there they had been dithering for the last five hours. Prepared to fight for their homes and families if whatever had caused this should come out, but praying to all the Immortals that it wouldn’t. The Reeve had dispatched boys to ride to the shire moot and the Sheriff, but hadn’t expected any help for at least a day. He was more than happy to turn it all over to the proper authorities, however unexpected their advent!

As they all sat digesting this grisly tale, Drake rode forward and addressed the Reeve.

“You said several men of the town were arrested and taken to the keep,” he leaned down urgently. “Did you find their bodies in there?”

“No, milord,” the man replied, surprised. “They’d be in the dungeons, I suppose, and we never made it that far…”

“Was Querdon Bartyne among those taken?” Drake demanded.

“Oh, no Ser… that’s another odd thing, really. He certainly should have been, we all know he was thick as thieves – er, that is, he was close to the Constable, and I’m sure deep into whatever mischief was being done. But six, no seven, days ago he just up and disappeared.

“That was the same night some folk claim they saw flashes of blue light up in the Keep… not that such things were unheard of these past ten years… but the next morning men came from the Keep to Querdon’s shop, and were quite angry to find him gone, along with his elder boy… what was his name…”

“Kimbar,” Drake snorted in annoyance, wheeling his horse around and heading back toward the village. “Alakor, I’m going to see what I can find at the shop!”

Alakor, already arranging his men in preparation for entering the abattoir his new home had apparently become, waved his brother on. Vulk and Mariala wheeled their own horses to follow Drake, while Devrik and Erol had already dismounted and drawn their weapons to follow Alakor.

♦♦♦

Drake arrived at the well-remembered and much hated door of his uncle’s apothecary shop in a spray of dust and gravel, pulling hard on his horse’s reins and leaping from the saddle. Mariala and Vulk arrived at a more seemly pace, and dismounted to find him already inside. Standing before him, looking dumbfounded and holding a broom, was a young man of about the same age.

“Danyes, my younger cousin,” Drake explained to his friends as they entered. The young man just goggled at Drake, apparently unsure if he was seeing a ghost or his living cousin… and which he should be more afraid of.

“We thought you were dead Draik!” he finally managed to blurt out.

“Well I’m not, no thanks to your father… or his friend the ex-Constable. Whom I’ve seen hanged, by the way; and I intend to see my uncle meet the same end.” Danyes didn’t seem particularly upset by this pronouncement, to Vulk and Mariala’s mild surprise. Drake turned to examine the shop, shaking his head in disgust.

“I see your father and brother made a mess of things before they fled… do you have any idea why they fled, cousin?”

“Not really,” Danyes replied, looking down at the pile of broken crockery he’d been sweeping up. “I’ve never been told much – just ‘do this’ or ‘do that, you stupid sod.’ Kimbar was the one who Father liked… and once you and Alakor were gone, he started training Kimbar more closely, and taking him off on his gathering trips and such. Things just got worse for me… you know how it was… and when Kimbar started treating me like a servant –”

Drake felt a twinge of reluctant sympathy for his cousin. It was true, Querdon hadn’t treated his sons much better than his unwanted nephews, and with his ire concentrated on two, rather than four, it could certainly have gotten worse. Drake firmly repressed the twinge.

“I ran away,” he said bluntly. “So could you have done, if it was so bad.”

“Right,” Danyes snorted, showing a sudden spark of anger. “I got no particular skills, I’m not very strong, or smart, I know that… where would I go? Just run off and starve to death, or get killed on the roads, or et by bears?”

“Well, I won’t argue your choices,” Drake shrugged. “But you have no idea why your father was in such a hurry to abandon his home and livelihood?”

“No, it was the night of the 13th… I saw some flashes of blue light up at the keep while I was out fetching water. When I told Father he rushed out to see for himself, and when he came back in he seemed… I dunno, even more pinched and angry than usual. He pulled Kimbar into the back while I fixed supper, as usual… it was strange, afterwards… Kimbar said he’d clean up – he never did that – and Father insisted I have another cup of wine, unwatered this time.

“I think he drugged me, because I got very sleepy after that… I don’t even remember going to bed. The next thing I knew the Constable’s men were pounding on the door, calling for Father to come out. I went to open the door, and saw that the shop looked like a tornado had blown through it… they didn’t believe me, that I didn’t know nothing about where they’d gone, and they took me up to the Keep…”

At this point he seemed reluctant to go on, however hard Drake pressed him, until Mariala stepped forward and made an effort to sooth him. Under her expert handling he calmed down, and with Vulk’s help she got the full story from him. Vulk’s subtle ritual of Truth Sensing didn’t go unnoticed, so she was able to concentrate on keeping the lad talking. He truly didn’t seem to recall much of what happened in the keep, but Mariala used her skill with hypnosis to pull back the veil of mental fog…

Danyes had been taken to the subterranean Great Hall of the keep, where a man he’d never seen before was sitting in the Constable’s chair on the dais. Under Mariala’s hypnotic coaching he was able to recall much about the man – he was not particularly tall, of medium build, with dark brown hair and piercing green eyes. Very pale of skin, his face was rather flat, with a squashed, wide nose that gave him an odd, frightening look. He was dressed in dark green and brown robes, with an emerald green vest cloak over them. He had rings on several fingers and chain of what looks like wooden beads around his neck, with a carved wooden pendant.

After several minutes of questioning by the man, which frightened the youth so deeply that no amount of hypnosis could recall the memory, he was released in disgust, and allowed to make his way home. Since then he had been sunk in a lethargic depression, making only occasional, half-hearted attempts to clean up the shop.

While this information was being extracted from his cousin, Drake had been taking a quick inventory of the shop. Much of the mundane herbs, ointments and potions remained, if in disarray, but all the valuable and esoteric items seemed to have been taken. The only exception were two vials of Heal-All, which seemed to have rolled behind a large jar of horse urine and been missed in his uncle’s haste to decamp. Drake pocketed them, and returned to the main room as Danyes finished his tale.

Under the watchful gaze of his friends, Drake eventually gave in to his cousin’s pathetic pleas to be allowed to stay on as his assistant. As they left the shop to return to the keep, leaving Danyes to clean up with renewed hope and energy, Drake considered that it might be just as well… he’d be needing a test subject for some of his ideas…

♦♦♦

Meanwhile, back at the keep, Alakor, Erol and Devrik had lead a squad of Hand of Vengeance mercenaries into the fortress. As the Reeve had reported, bodies were scattered throughout, including the places the villagers had failed to explore in their panic. From the ground floor to the fourth-floor solar, they found the entire Royal Troop, and its commander, stabbed, hacked, strangled or burned – some with weapons drawn, others seemingly taken by surprise.

Vulk, Drake and Mariala arrived back just as Erol and Devrik were preparing to head down the grand staircase to the underground Great Hall and the kitchens and cellars. While Alakor and Marik organized their men into body retrieval parties, the five friends gathered two mercenaries for torch-bearers, and started down the wide stone steps.

The Great Hall had only two bodies apparent, one on the dais, the other in the doorway to the kitchen. Taking the torches, Vulk sent the mercs back to arrange for body removal, and the group spread out exploring the level – the library, the Presence Room behind the dais and the two offices attached to it, the kitchen, and the pantry. It was in the pantry that they found the first of the arrested townsmen, strangled, at the top of the stairs that most likely led down into the cellars.

Examining the ligature carefully, Vulk was able to determine that the man was strangled by a vine of some sort – plant fibers and sap remained caught in the raw wound. Torches flickering before them, the group descended into the cellars, where they found the rest of townsmen’s bodies, scattered amongst the barrels, sacks and crates of the keep’s stores. All of them strangled, all apparently by vines.

“I don’t think there’s any doubt that we’re looking at the work of that same Torazin mage we met in Shalara,” said Vulk as they headed back up to the Great Hall. “The description we got from Drake’s cousin, and the evidence of murder by animated plants… it all adds up to Doriath.”

“True,” agreed Devrik, “But was he alone? Not all the murders were by plant, clearly… does he wield other magics, then, or did he have help?”

Unable to answer that question yet, the group split up again and decided to perform a more thorough examination of the level.

“This is a Khundari-built structure, after all,” Drake pointed out as he examined the wall corresponding to the one near the cellar stairs in the pantry. “Most of it would be underground, so there must be hidden access somewhere…”

In what looked to have been the Constable’s private office, though it was stripped bare of anything useful, and many papers had been burned, Mariala eventually found a trigger near the desk. A large section of floor and wall in the far corner of the small room suddenly dropped a few inches and then slid over to reveal a narrow flight of stairs dropping down into darkness.

The rest of the group quickly joined her, and led by Devrik, with Vulk holding one of the torches right behind him, they descended single-file into the gloom. Except for Drake. The staircase was narrow, steep and long, and as he set foot on the first step a wave of claustrophobic panic overwhelmed him. As the others descended, he retreated back into the room with the second torch, and began fumbling in his scrip.

Below, his friends had discovered that the stairs ended in a wider corridor that stretched away to both left and right. It was at this point they noticed Drake was missing, and Erol and Vulk headed back up the stairs to see what had happened, leaving an annoyed Devrik and Mariala in the dark.

Stepping back in the room they found Drake just lighting a small pipe and taking a deep lungful of smoke.

“If you can drag me down into the damn sewers,” Vulk said in exasperation, “then you can make it down this tunnel Drake. Now man up, and let’s go!”

“Claustrophobia,” Drake replied to his angry friend. “A toke or two of hero’s heart, and I’ll be fine…”

He offered the pipe to his friends, who looked at each other, shrugged, and said “why not?” Erol took the first hit, then handed the clay pipe to Vulk. All three quickly felt the tingling skin that meant the drug was working. In just a few moments Drake began to feel the rush of euphoria and loss of inhibition that would allow him to descend those stairs. Erol felt he was stronger, braver and keener of senses. Vulk mainly felt the euphoria and heightened senses.

But time was pressing, and Erol lead the way back down the stairs, murmuring soothing words of encouragement to Drake, who followed with a hand on his shoulder… and eyes shut. Devrik and Mariala, impatient and annoyed, sniffed suspiciously at their friends, but accepted Drake’s explanation that he had just needed a moment to calm his claustrophobia. The relaxing effect of the drug fully kicked in, and Drake was able to focus on his surroundings, while Vulk closely examined the stonework with a lazy smile…

“This is clearly an older Khundari style,” he offered, “but still in good condition, despite the all those centuries…”

Ignoring this bit of information, the reunited group decided to take the left-hand passage. They were soon forced to turn left again, then descend another, shorter flight of stairs. Another left turn and they found themselves in an even older section of corridor – but despite its obviously greater age, these passages appeared in even better shape, the work of the great Dwarven masters of the Age of the Codominon.

After another 150 feet or so, the corridor dropped down a short flight of steps, into a higher ceilinged hall. Immediately to the left was a corridor, and a second one, on the right, could be dimly made out 30 feet further down the hall, beyond which it looked like another flight of stairs going back up. With the well-oiled precision that came from months of exploring dark places together, the group decided to check out the first branching corridor, to the left.

It opened in to an L-shaped area of three prison cells, all empty except the center one. There they found a man, naked except for his grimy trews, chained to the back wall. His form was incased in the faint bluish nimbus of light that indicated a stasis field. As Drake started to pull out his lock-picking tools, Devrik simply stepped back and then kicked it in, sending splinters from the around the twisted mechanism flying.

Inside the cell, which stank of stale sweat, and other, less pleasant odors, they found a small ceramic vial amongst the filthy rushes on the floor near the prisoner’s feet. Mariala picked it up, sniffing at the slight black residue within. She wrinkled her nose and passed the vial to Drake.

“Smells nasty,” she grimaced. “Any ideas on what it might be?”

“Dolshiva,” Drake replied after a few seconds. “It is nasty stuff, used mainly to make rat poison, but perfectly able to kill a strong man, with a dose this size. And painfully…”

“Why would anyone go to the trouble of killing someone,” Vulk wondered, examining the chained body more closely, “and then performing a ritual of preservation? Or casting a spell of stasis, possibly,” he added , before Mariala or Devrik could correct him.

“I suppose the only way to find out is to dispel the stasis and try to revive him,” Mariala replied. “Of course without an antidote to the poison, we might just get a repeat of that horror show with Ser Andro…” She shuddered at the memory.

“Actually,” said Drake quickly, overriding Vulk’s indignant retort, ” I happen to have some Heal-All with me. It was one of the few things of value left in my uncle’s – in MY shop.” He pulled one of the vials from his scrip.

“Are you willing to try a resurrection?” he asked his best friend.

“Give me a few minutes to prepare the ritual and calm my mind,” Vulk answered. “And I suspect it may take Mariala a few minutes to focus her energies on breaking the stasis.”

“You realize this might well be a trap?” Devrik asked, somewhat resignedly. He knew them too well to know they’d be swayed by common sense in something like this. “We should just leave him, and finish our search. Maybe take him with us afterward…”

This sparked a debate, but as he had suspected he might be, Devrik was outvoted. But even he was surprised at what happened next.

When she and Vulk were both ready, Mariala had successfully dispelled the stasis field; but before the Cantor could even begin his healing ritual it proved unnecessary. As the blue glow faded and Vulk made to lay hands on him, the man suddenly gasped raggedly, and his face twisted in a sudden spasm of pain.

“Poisoned!” he gasped. “Help!”

Drake rushed forward and forced the man’s clenched jaw open, pouring the entire contents of the healing potion down his throat. After several shuddering moments, his breathing began to slow, and his face relaxed its pained grimace.

“Thank you,” he managed at last, in a voice close to normal. “Whoever you are, thank you… I was sure I was going to die…”

“Who poisoned you?” Vulk asked, moving in to closely examine the recovering but still chained man. “And who put you into stasis?”

“As to the the poisoner, I heard him referred to by his men as Lord Vendal… but I know no more of him. I was taken in the night, from my inn in the the town, and he questioned me, harshly, about my travels and my reason for being in Dür… but I learned nothing from him, he was very cold… very efficient… he came… what day is it?”

“Late afternoon on the 20th,” Vulk answered. “Of Kilta.”

“Ah, only two days then,” the man sighed. “My captor came to me two evenings ago, if I can judge the time of day by the meager bread they served me…and no water… he came to me and forced the contents of a small vial down my throat, laughing.

” ‘This will leave them a pretty puzzle,’ he said… I knew at once that it was poison… I could feel it taking effect…”

“So who cast the stasis on you?” Vulk interrupted impatiently. “It surely wasn’t the man who forced the poison on you…”

The chained man hesitated a moment before continuing. “No, after he had left I realized I had only one chance… there’s no point in trying to hide it… I am T’ara Kul, of the Avikor convocation, and I decided to try the almost impossible… praying to the Lady of Luck, I cast the spell of stasis on myself… it was my only hope…”

Mariala, Devrik and Vulk all looked shocked at this revelation, while Erol and Drake just shrugged.

“What’s the big deal?” Erol asked as his friends continued to stare at the man in amazement.

“Only a handful of people have ever succeeded in doing what he claims,” replied Devrik, eying the chained mage suspiciously. “Talorin Silvereye, for one… a few saints… actually, a very small handful…”

“Yes,” agreed Vulk. “Stasis, whether granted by ritual or cast by spell, can only be used on the dead… at best, a person in a deep coma might be successfully preserved. But i t is virtually impossible to force stasis on a conscious mind, even a willing one!”

“I knew the odds were against me,” the stranger shrugged, rattling his chains. “But I was desperate, there was no other way out… they’d taken my focus, kept me weak and far from my element… it was a hail Kasira shot, but it seemed to have worked…”

Mariala seemed willing to accept this amazing story, since she had been subtly using her Truth Sense on the man, and Vulk followed her lead, if skeptically, but Devrik remained suspicious. Questioning the man further, they elicited a story of passing through Dür on his way to Dürkon, the Khundari principality on the northwestern shore of Lake Everbrite, where he sought to gain a position as tutor to the children of Prince Rhoghûn.

“He’s lying,” Devrik snorted. “This whole thing stinks of a trap. How likely is any of this?”

While Mariala agreed that he was lying about his reason for being in Dür, or at least not being completely truthful, she also sensed that the man was fundamentally honest. While the argument raged on about what to do next, Erol wandered down the hall to the large, bronze-gated chamber at the end of the cell block. Pushing open the gate, he found a forge/fireplace, coals still glowing in a banked slumber, and a large semicircular stone basin of water, along with a great many implements of torture. What had once clearly been a Khundari smithy was now equally obviously an interrogation chamber. And hanging on the wall, across form the pile of stacked wood, was an iron ring of keys.

Taking the keys, he returned to the cell where the others continued to debate what to do with their unwillingly gained prisoner. Ignoring the chatter, he simply walked up to the chained man, found the correct key, and unlocked the iron fetters that held him to the wall. With a groan of relief the fellow collapsed into his arms, before staggering upright.

At his point Devrik threw up his arms, shook his head in disgust, and walked away. He knew a lost argument, having lived months now with both his friends and Raven; but he’d be keeping an eye on their new “friend” just the same. The others gathered around the man, offering water, first aid, and introductions.

“Thank you, my friends,” he said, after guzzling from Vulk’s water skin. “My name is Korwin Seaborn, of Kelic Isle, in Oceania.”

“I thought you had an Imperial accent,” Mariala said. “What can we do to help, Korwin… you probably need food, and a proper physician…”

“What I need most is to recover my possessions, especially my focus and my… well, I sense that you, at least, understand the importance of a focus to one in our line of work, lady.”

Despite Devrik’s continued grumblings, the group agreed to seek out Korwin’s possessions – his psionic link to his focus led him to believe that they were not far. And indeed, with Drake keeping a careful eye on him, he led the group out of the cell block, and back into the larger, sunken hallway. From there he went quickly down the hall and turned  into the corridor opening on the right.

This proved to lead into a barracks room, with five sets of bunk beds filling the space; and on each bed, the flickering torch light revealed a dead soldier, every one with his throat cut from ear to ear. Korwin barely glance at the corpses as he passed through the small room to the door at the far side, so intent was he on tracking his focus. Even as Drake called out a caution that the door might be booby trapped, he pushed it open and stepped through.

The room on the other side of the door proved to be a small bed chamber, no doubt for the captain of the soldiers who had bunked in the outer room. No corpse on this bed, however, and Korwin dove for the large wardrobe on the far wall. Flinging it open, he gave a glad cry and pulled out his stolen possessions. The first thing he did was put the silver chain, from which depended a crystal vial of clear water, around his neck with a sigh of great relief. The next thing he did was put on a simple silver ring, set with coral.

As he slid the ring onto his finger, several things happened at once – the finger began to tingle, the ring-bearing fingers of the member of the Hand of Fortune also began to tingle, and the corpses on the bunks began to rise. At the gasps of his friends, Drake, who had been standing in the doorway watching Korwin, whirled barely in time to block the grasping hands of the first of two undead zamoraz reaching for him.

Shambling and relatively slow moving the zamoraz might be, but in the close confines of the barracks room, their numbers made up for any lack of real fighting skill. Two grasped at Mariala, who drew her Khundari-forged dagger once she realized her usual tactic of casting Fire Nerves would be useless against the already-dead,while Vulk and Devrik each faced one; but it was Erol who appeared in the most trouble, backed into a corner with four of the undead clawing at him. With little room to maneuver his trident to it’s full effect, he shortened his grip up towards the head, and as he laid into them he felt time shift, and slow to a crawl…

Vulk, who had suffered the effects of the Shadow once before at the hands of a gülmora, had no desire to repeat the horrific experience. But even as he drew his sword a claw-like hand tore at the leather cowl around his neck and made contact with his skin – once again, he felt the numbing cold of the Void as he mentally fought to keep his life force from being drained away, and failed. He staggered back into the hallway, bringing his sword down and severing the arm that clutched at him, but the white-eyed horror shambled forward after him.

The respite was enough, however, and Vulk quickly chanted the invocation to Kasira for protection – in an instant he sensed the powerful golden glow of her armor surrounding him, and he laid into the undead monstrosity in a fury of fear and anger. Though it clawed and grasped in single-minded pursuit of his life essence, the zamora never landed another touch, and in a moment Vulk had dispatched it to the final death.

Devrik, meanwhile had been more or less absent-mindedly parrying the attacks of the creature trying to kill him, focusing instead on helping his friends, especially Mariala. This was her first physical fight using steel instead of magic, and she appeared somewhat panicked at first. One of the creatures landed a blow to her head, but she was able to fight off the assault on her mind by the Shadow. This seemed to give her renewed confidence, and with Devrik’s surprisingly calm encouragement she wielded her dagger with such skill that she severed the creature’s spine, sending it to dust with a single blow!

Marial new confidence, as her second opponent moved in, allowed Devrik to turn his attention to Drake – he was doing very well, actually, but there was an opening and Devrik tried to take it, thinking to aim a fireball at the wall behind one of the zamoraz. But in the close confines of the room, his fear of hurting his friends overwhelmed his skill, and the moment passed. With an annoyed curse, he returned his full attention to his own opponent, dispatching it in two quick blows to the torso, essentially cutting it in half.

While the others focused on their own battles, Erol had been systematically dispatching the four undead shuffling around him as they “looked”  for openings. To his friends, when they had a moment to notice, he seemed to move at blurring speed. Only a single zamora managed to land a blow, but the armor on his thigh turned the raking nails away without it touching his flesh. By the time Drake had dispatched the first of his own attackers, and begun on the second, Erol was pulling his gory trident from the skull of his last zamora. As Drake severed the arm of his last zamora, Erol hurled his trident across the room, piercing the creature’s spine and putting it down for good.

Devrik turned back to Mariala, who was holding her own against her own second undead warrior, but again Devrik saw an opening – and this time he succeeded. A spark of flame leapt from his hand and flew past the zamora to hit the wall behind it, erupting into a fireball that engulfed the creature while barely singeing Mariala’s hair. The zamora went up like a pitch torch, and in a few seconds had crumbled to ash and dust.

The battle was over, and only Vulk had taken serious damage – he was cold and shaken, and clearly very weak, but he insisted he could go on. Korwin stumbled from the chamber beyond, clutching his clothes and apologizing for not being of any help. He had tried, but he was weak, dehydrated, and much too far from an open water source …

“But I realize now that we may have more to talk about,” he added, casually letting Matriala see his ring, which was now open to reveal the sigil of the Star Council.

“Yes,” she replied, sheathing her dagger and showing her own ring. “We all sensed it a moment after you entered that room – I assume you put on your own ring at that point?”

“That’s right,” Korwin replied, as he pulled his clothes on. “Right after I regained my focus. But are you all associates of the Council then?”

Between them, the group gave him a brief recounting of their relationship with the Star Council, and he filled them in on his own short relationship with it.

“I had left the Empire last year,” he said, “and had made my way, by a twisting route, to the Sydoran League. It was in the city-state of Goleath, as I searched for a ship that might take me on as a sea-mage, that I met an older man who offered to help. I was suspicious at first, but when he secured me a berth aboard a merchant ship leaving for Arushal the next morning, I unbent enough to ask how I could repay him.

“He just smiled, and said there might be a ‘task or two’ I could help him with in Arushal. I had assumed, then, that he would be sailing with us, but it was not the case. You can imagine my surprise when he met the ship on the dock at Devok, and invited me to lodge with him at his nearby home –”

“Wait,” interrupted Mariala suddenly. “What was the name of this helpful older gentleman?”

“Kiril Vetaris… but why–”

There was a bit of a hubbub as the others explained that Master Vetaris was one of their own contact’s with the Star Council, and they all pondered what it might mean. Coincidence, or part of a larger plan? Who could tell, at this point? But several minds were made up then, to speak to the Gray Mage about it when next they met.

Vetaris had sent Korwin on several minor fact-finding trips north, sometimes into the Republic, other times into the wilds of the Savage Mountains. He always returned with apparently satisfactory results, and about a month ago his new mentor had finally told him about the Star Council and his own relationship to it. Korwin had accepted the offer of associate status, and the ring that went with it.

His most recent mission had been to try and track down what Vetaris believed to be a possible renegade mage, operating in the North. He had been seen most recently near the western shores of Lake Everbrite, in the company of barbarians, and it was there that Korwin had caught his trail. It had lead him to Dür, and then had gone cold. Learning from local rumors that the Constable was up to his eyeballs in dirty deeds, he had made a foray into the keep in search of further information on his quarry. What he had learned so far was little more that the man’s given name, Lorkad, and the hint that he was a Tykizu T’ara Kul.

It was while searching through the papers in the Constable’s private office, behind his Presence Chamber, that he had been surprised and captured by Doriath. Korwin had claimed to be a common thief, taking advantage of the Constable’s absence to pilfer what he could, but there was no hiding his arcane talents from a fellow mage. Fortunately, his mental defenses had been strong enough to keep the other man out of his deepest thoughts, and he was certain his connection to the Council remained hidden.

Vulk and Mariala then took turns explaining their own business in Dür, and the part they had played in the downfall of its former Constable. Devrik remained somewhat skeptical, but could hardly argue with the evidence of the rings. At least until he had a private moment to speak to Master Vetaris… When Korwin learned that they were searching for evidence of Danyes Bernan’s connection to a mysterious group who had been backing him, he recalled something he had seen just before being captured.

“It was an odd reference in what looked to be a draft of a letter… the phrasing caught my eye. Something to the effect that his ‘insurance should they turn on me’ was protected ‘deep, by fire and water.’ I barely had time to ponder it before I was attacked. I was dazed, as they dragged me from the room, but I saw this Doriath fellow stuffing all the papers into a brazier…”

On hearing the odd phrasing Drake had a sudden epiphany, and he quickly lead the others back down to the cell block, and the former smithy-cum-torture chamber Erol had first entered, where the fire still burned in the forge, across from the water basin. They hadn’t really thought about it before, but how was a fire still burning? It had been at least two days since anyone could have tended to it, and there were only cold hearths everywhere else they’d looked…

The group spread out to search the chamber, looking for any hidden doors, compartments or panels. Devrik stood before the forge, examining it closely and eyeing the suspiciously burning embers, while Mariala and Kowrin examined the stone basin of water. It was an amazingly fortuitous configuration, for just as Mariala detected a cunningly hidden latch on the lip of the basin, and released it, the fire in the forge suddenly flared to roaring life and a great gout of flame erupted from it!

Devrik, standing directly in the path, reacted instinctively – his inborn affinity for fire flared in response, and he threw his hands up as the flames engulfed him. But they didn’t burn him; instead, his mind seized the fire, wrapped it around himself, and hurled it back into the forge where it sputtered and quickly died down. Everyone else in the room stood stunned for a moment, the vision of Devrik wreathed in flame like one of the Fire Gods etched into their minds.

“Devrik, you saved my life!” Mariala cried as he turned toward her. “if you hadn’t been there, that blast would have roasted me. And maybe Korwin, too!”

Devrik shrugged,and said only, “Kasira must have been smiling today.” Then he gestured at the basin. ‘I think you found it…”

The water had drained from the great stone basin, and a close examination of the now-exposed bottom soon revealed a hidden compartment. Inside were two items: an oilskin-wrapped book and an oilskin bag full of coins and gemstones. Once unwrapped, the book proved to be a well-crafted volume of thick parchment pages, about half of which were filled with a coarse, blocky handwriting.

Vulk hefted the bag of coins and gems. “No doubt a part of the former-Constable’s insurance – enough cash to flee in comfort, should he need to, along with that book that just might reveal more about the Vortex than they would wish!”

“Unfortunately, it’s in some sort of cypher,” Mariala said as she scrutinized the pages. “I don’t recognize it right off, I’m sorry to say… but this is just the sort of thing we Xavor’na excel at… I think I can break this, in time…”

After safely securing book and bag about Mariala’s and Vulk’s persons, respectively, the group decided to continue on with their search, at Vulk’s insistence that he was fine. His wobbly knees belied that, but the others pretended not to notice, and they forged ahead. The next chamber they encountered was clearly an ancient Khundari entrance hall, with a set of great double doors at one end. These opened into a narrow cavern passage, perhaps part of the original mine complex Dür was built over.

They traveled down the more-or-less straight series of tunnels for about a quarter mile, ignoring the many side branches and treading warily at the signs of  Devrik’s favorite underground dwellers, the taloxta. The last stretch of tunnel opened up into the late afternoon sunlight through a crumbling stone arch, covered in tangled vines and large shrubs. Stepping through, they found themselves in the heart of the Elvenwood, with the high shoulder  of the Elf’s Mound visible through the trees to their left.

Rather than return to the Keep by the underground road (everyone was very aware of the spoor they’d seen of the Eaters of Eyes, and why ask for trouble?), they decided to go overland, through the village. Alakor and Marik were at the gate, arranging guard duties for the night, and looked somewhat surprised as they approached.

“I thought we’d left you exploring the basements,” he laughed. “Apparently I’ve got other routes in and out of my fortress to guard!”

♦♦♦

Ove the next several days things began to get back to normal at Dür. The bodies of the slain were burned in a special ritual performed by Vulk, the cantor of the local Eldari temple having been one of those arrested and then murdered, and the keep itself was cleaned and exorcised. Gradually the people began to settle down as Ser Alakor proved himself to be a fair and reasonable lord.

Dame Mariala rode out, with Devrik as escort, to take possession of the manor she had gained along with her title. About a half day’s easy ride from Dür, Tinion Manor was a pleasant fief of rolling fields and wooded slopes in the foothills of the mountains. It seemed well managed, and the current bailiff was more than pleased to continue on in that roll, “at least until milady makes other arrangements.” Mariala sensed that the man really hoped that he would be confirmed in his position, but as she also sensed an innate honesty in him, she was inclined to leave things as they were.

Vulk and Erol also visited the manor that had been bestowed on the cantor by the Earl of Kinen, which was a long day’s ride north. Delince Manor was also a decent piece of land, in a narrow valley with a moderate-sized stream running through it. But the bailiff there was not at all happy to see a new lord of the manor, and was doubly displeased when he learned said lord was a foreigner. Vulk was forced to leave the man in charge, being as yet unfamiliar with any suitable replacements, but when he and Erol departed the next morning he was quite certain there would be no problems, at least for the short term. Between the menace of Erol and the power of Abon’s Authority, the bailiff was quite cowed…

Drake spent much of this time sorting through his new shop, making arrangements for new stock to be acquired, and finding that his cousin was actually a decent assistant, eager and willing. He had little interest in visiting his other possession just yet, though he had been pleased to learn that Tarich Manor sat in an isolated valley deep in the foothills of Mt. Eigarstal. It seemed likely to be an excellent base for herb-gathering forays in the days to come…

Which brought him to his plan for the fifth night after their arrival in Dür. Drake called all his friends together for a dinner at his house/shop, including his brother, Raven, Black Hawk and Cris. After the meal, as he poured a decent brandy that had survived his uncle’s hurried departure, and Brann and Erol’s ferret curled up together near the fire, he cleared his throat for their attention.

“My friends, I’v got something I need to tell you all…”

 

While his companions were pursuing the kidnapped girl underground, Drake followed his own pursuit of the Maid Carissa on the surface. The Constable’s townhouse was not far from Khundari Square, where the snatch had occurred, and a five minute dash through the relatively quiet streets of this fashionable side of town found him outside the shuttered and silent mansion.

While he paused in the street, considering how best to continue (should he try and break in, just knock on the door, create some elaborate diversion?), he heard a sudden hiss from behind him. Whirling around, he was confronted by two Hand of Vengeance mercs, motioning him from a doorway across the street.

Rigan and Justav were part of the round-the-clock watch that Colith One-eye had put on the Ser Danyes’ residence since the Hand had arrived in the city. They recognized Drake, and wanted to know what he was doing, trying to blow their cover?

Once he had explained the situation, they immediately fell in to plotting with him on how best to proceed. But before any decision could be reached an armed & armored figure was seen hurrying up the street and going straight to the door of the townhouse. His pounding soon brought a response, and he quickly slipped in through the narrowly opened door.

It was less than 10 minutes later when the door opened again and both the man and Ser Danyes himself emerged and set off down the street at a brisk pace. The Constable wore a cloak of dark green silk, pulling the hood up over his head and concealing his face. It took no time for Drake to decide to follow the pair. Sending Rigan to seek out Colith and bring him and the Hand back to the townhouse, he took Justav with him to act as a relay.

For 15 minutes they followed the Constable and his henchman through the streets of the city. Although less trafficked than usual, due to the Summer Fair, there were enough people on the streets to make avoiding detection easy, despite Ser Danyes’ constant looking from side to side…

They eventually arrived in a more commercial, and much less genteel, part of town, near the city walls along the river docks. There, the two men entered a moderately sized two-story warehouse. The sign out front said Kardeth & Son, Bonded Merchantyler.

After watching outside for a few minutes, Drake and Justav decided their only course was to follow them in, pretending to want warehouse space if necessary. Inside they found a mostly empty space, only a few crates and barrels scattered about, and no sign of the Constable or his minion. The only person seemed to be a guard, who politely inquired after their business.

A few minutes of question brought only bland, generic responses and the suggestion that they seek out Master Kardeth at his home office. Finally Drake had had enough and decided to attack the fellow, subdue him, and search the premises.

Unfortunately, being Drake, his attack fell a little short of success, and the guard managed to grapple him into a choke hold. With Drake holding him back, struggling to break the grip, the man seemed determined to reach a pulley on the nearby wall.

Luckily for Drake, he had Justav with him, who managed to knock the watchman senseless with his sword pommel just before he could grasp the pull. Nothing was said as they tied the fellow to a post… Drake trusts no unfortunate stories will be making the rounds in the Company…

Uncertain if the pull worked an alarm or a secret door, the two decided to search the building before doing anything rash, a rare show of good sense. Twenty minutes of careful poking about finally bore fruit in one of the four smaller rooms that lined the back wall.

The last one was an office, with desk, chair, and bookcase, and it was here that Drake discovered a secret door behind the latter. How jejune, but sometimes the classics work best. One he figured out how to open it, he sent Justav running back to the Constable’s townhouse, there to rendezvous with Rigan and Colith and company and direct them back here.

As he took a torch and descended the narrow stone stairs into darkness, he wondered what the hell he was doing…

♦ ♦ ♦

Elsewhere, and somewhat earlier, with the secret door in the sewers pried open, the rest of the Hand of Fortune began their own decent further into the depths below the city. With two torches to light the way, Devrik led them into a passage that slowly widened to 10 feet, with a flat ceiling 8 feet above them. More room than the 6-foot barrel ceilings of the sewers, and definitely drier, but creepier, somehow, with stonework that was cruder, simpler than the sewers, if not seemingly much older.

For some fifty feet they could sense the passage gradually sloping down-ward, until ended in a flight of very steep stairs. Pausing, nothing could be heard or seen from the depths, so Devrik continued on, Erol and Vulk at his back with torches, and Mariala bringing up the rear.

At the bottom of the long flight, an archway opened into a semicircular room some 30 feet across at the widest point. The style of stonework here was obviously much older than anything they’d seen so far, with bold, almost brutal lines. Mariala would later recognize the architectural style of the Necromancer. Another archway could be made out across the room, and two to either side.

But Devrik, Erol and Vulk barely had time to register that much, when a skittering and sudden hissing told them they were not alone. Mariala was still on the last few steps when a pack of taloxta, the much feared Eaters of Eyes that had just a month earlier almost cost Devrik an eye, and maybe his life, leapt out of the darkness and on to their prey.

Four each attacked the three men, clawing and biting and trying to gouge out an eye. Devrik was grimly pleased with the effectiveness of his new 3/4-helm, bought for just such an occasion – though they ripped and tore at his clothing and armor, none of the little bastards caused a scratch.

Vulk was less lucky, taking some hits to his neck, shoulder and upper arm, though none were serious. He managed to cripple one of the little killers, hamstringing it’s left leg, leaving it running in circles on the floor, and Mariala cast a Firenerve spell on another.

Erol was the one who came closest to disaster in the encounter, when the initial rush allowed one of the raptors to strike at his face with it’s claws, barely missing his eye and leaving a nasty gash down his left cheek.

Once over the initial shock, the group rallied and managed to beat off the rest of the tiny monsters, although Devrik’s method was the most spectacular – grabbing a seed fire from Erol’s torch, he stepped aside and cast a Fireball spell, slamming it down on his own thigh. This engulfed both him and his attackers, stunning or killing all of them and doing no real damage to his well-armored self.

Once the rest of the attacking beasties were dispatched, and the stunned or wounded ones crushed, stabbed or otherwise sent out of this world (Devrik took great joy in running his sword through their eyes), there was time to look around.

The switch which released the taloxta was concealed, although not hidden, to the right of the door, and it was obvious that Jarath had pulled it as he passed through, opening the four small grates that covered the openings into the creature’s lair. But which way had he taken Carissa from here?

It was about 15 feet down the central passage that Mariala caught a flash of something on the floor – a very distinctive button from one of maid Carissa’s dresses. Mariala knew the dress, and estimated she had 15 buttons in total… if she was being clever, and leaving a trail, tracking her might be easier than they’d expected.

They continued on, passing branching passageways, as the corridor curved gently to the right. But at each possible juncture, they found another button some 10 feet into one of them, and they made good time, even if it wasn’t fast enough for Devrik.

In about 15 minutes, after another set of stairs, less steep and long, the group came to a long corridor, at the end of which was a set of double doors, made of age-blackened ironwood, with crusted hinges and hardware. The doors were slightly ajar, and a faint light could be seen from within, and voices could be heard, raised in argument.

Erol snuck forward to peer in and listen. He could see a large room, and in his line of sight two men, a large table with alchemical looking beakers and jars, and a large iron grate in the floor. A third man, unseen to the left of the other two, was speaking, chastising one of the two.

This turned out to be the Constable of Dür, chastising his lieutenant Jarath Pudos for bringing “the girl” to their lair. Pudos had understood his boss to have said that the missing girl could be a great advantage to them, and when the opportunity had arisen to seize her from the crowd, he’d taken it.

But Ser Danyes angrily explained that what he had meant was, with almost all of the Earl’s men and retainers out searching, and the man himself distracted and fearful, this was the perfect time to attempt one final assassination. Nothing fancy or baroque this time, just send in men to kill him and burn his evidence of the Constable’s skimming. He had just been sending out his hit squad when Ferdak had arrived with Jarath’s message and had pulled him away to this distraction.

The second man, who was named as Darith, was soft spoken and suggested that the girl might yet prove useful to them. He said it was a shame that this matter of his skimming should be distracting from the real business of the Vortex, and suggested that he would be saddened if the Constable were to be seen by their mutual masters as more liability than asset.

At this point the group had heard enough, once Erol had relayed it to them, and they decided to act. Mariala was the first through the door this time, hurling one of the flash grenades that she had taken from Ser Andro into the group of four men (which included the previously unseen Ferdak, to the left of the Constable). When this had blinded the miscreants, the others would rush past her and fall upon them like wolves!

Sadly, the plan sputtered out as the crystal globe smashed to the stone floor and went “pfffft” with barely a glow to mark its passing. It did achieve the result of surprising the gathered men, but unblinded they had time to react before the fighters could close on them.

Ser Danyes retreated to an alcove in the rear corner of the room, where Carissa was chained to the post of a bunkbed, the mage Darith stepped back, shielded by his lab table and equipment, mumbling and gesturing, and the two fighters, Jarath and Ferdak leapt forward to the attack.

Devrik successfully cast Gorten’s Brand on his sword, and with a single thrust dispatched the hapless Ferdak to the Void with a smoking hole in his chest… perhaps the poor man had been hampered by the push cart partially blocking his path. Although it seemed to pose little problem to Devrik…

Meanwhile, Erol engaged with jarath, who proved to be a skilled and dangerous opponent. Although Erol’s trident did manage to find one of the few unarmored points on the man, he still suffered several serious blows himself.

Vulk cast his serpent staff down and sent it to attack the mage, while he himself moved forward to engage the man with his sword. Unfortunately, about this time, the machinations of the slight wizard became clear, as vines suddenly began to shoot up from the three drains in the room: nine from the large central grate, and three each from the two smaller ones to the sides and in back of our heros.

The thick, tough and very fast moving vines whipped around the room, striking at each of the fighters, although Mariala remained out of reach in the doorway. While they managed to dodge many of the twisting vegetables, Erol soon had one wrapped around his thigh, while Vulk had one around both thigh and chest.

Devrik managed to hold off the first wave of vines, but was soon ensnared at his left hand . And each time one of the companions managed to burn off or sever a vine, two more would start to rapidly grow from the wound… the more they killed , the more they had to fight!

Mariala attempted to take out the Constable from across the room with her Firenerve spell, having already wisely cast Resistance on herself, but even as she stepped into the room to do it, she felt a heavy, oppressive weight in her mind… her spell achieved nothing. She now suspected there was a dampening field of some sort in effect in the room, probably negating other convocations of magic aside from Darith’s own. And if it was a Sanctum, then it would be enhancing his own magics…

Devrik turned his attentions to Jarath, who now had both of the group’s best fighters pressing him, but he held his own, even wounding Devrik, however slightly, in the neck. Erol’s erratic temporal ability kept him in the fight, even as Darith managed to turn Vuilk’s snake back on him, forcing the cantor to revert it to staff form, as more vines attacked him.

Despite the powerful shielding effects of his holy defenses, Vulk found himself hard pressed by the vines, and unable to move closer to engage the enemy mage directly. Mariala was soon busy defending herself from the vines, now that she was in the room. Ser Danyes simply held his hostage before him and watch the battle with avid, smug eyes.

And it seemed he might have good reason to be smug. For the next action that his T’ara Kül ally took was to cast a spell over the room that tried to put everyone but himself to sleep. And it succeeded devastatingly well… Although Carissa and the Constable, while they felt the pull of sleep, managed to resist it, as did Erol, Devrik, Mariala and Vulk all dropped like stones. As Vulk fell his torch dropped from his grasp and landed amidst the bubbling alchemical glassware around the lab table, causing one of the vessels to burst into flame. A sea of flaming liquid began to spread over a quarter of the room, blocking the rear exit.

The fallen were quickly bound by more vines; only Erol was left to battle Jarath. Things looked grim. But it was at this moment that Drake, having followed the Constable’s trail from the warehouse, burst in upon the scene. He immediately leapt over Mariala’s prone form to come to Erol’s aid. He instantly swung at Jarath, and struck a mighty blow to the villain’s sword arm – the man’s sword spun from his grasp, clattering to the stone floor, and he staggered back, clutching his arm as blood oozed between his fingers.

Seeing Jarath apparently on the ropes, and confident Erol could finish off the wounded man, Drake decided to take the fight to what was obviously a wizard cowering beyond the now-burning and tilted table, near the back wall. Leaping across the table in an amazing acrobatic move, he hurled himself through the smoke toward the dim shape. The force of his impact sent them both crashing against the table against the back wall, overturning more lab equipment. The mage seemed unfazed, however, even as Drake seized his robes and prepared to smite him. The man just smiled and  raised his hands to grasp at Drake in return…

…and the world went black.

Erol just had time to gasp in dismay as he saw Drake stiffen in the grasp of Darith, a gray wave washing over him almost faster than the eye could see. The form of his friend seemed turned to stone! Daith struggled for a moment to rip his robes from Drake’s now frozen grasp, and then he was moving away from the encroaching flames.

But Erol’s shock at this sudden reverse just lent fury to his trident, once again time seemed to slow down, and he struck a vicious blow to Jarath, wounding him again, even as the man scrambled to regain his sword, left-handed. Jarath staggered up and back, as the color drained further from his face, apparently as determined as ever to continue the battle.

More of the damn vines prevented Erol from following up with a killing blow, as they succeeded in grasping his sword arm and both legs at the groin, squeezing the hell out of his poor balls. But using the torch he freed his arm and, though he took a bit of burn damage to the crotch, he emulated Devrik and used the flame to free his legs (or, more pressingly, his balls).

By that time Jarath had shaken off the initial shock of his latest wounds, and was moving in for the attack once again; Erol met this assault with a flurry of jabs, and Jarath found himself impaled on the trident, a look of surprise on his face. This time he dropped to the ground, blood gushing, as his life ebbed away.

Erol instantly bent to try and wake Devrik, noting that the vines that had bound his friends had begun to slowly blacken and turn to foul-smelling mush. It took only an instant to rouse his friend, and Devrik surged to his feet, feeling for his throwing spear at his back.

His first semi-coherent thought, seeing the petrified form of Drake through the increasingly smoky air, was “How long was I out? When did they have time to carve a statue of Drake?”

His next was focused on Ser Danyes, who had moved forward to stand next to Darith, hold Carissa before him as a shield, his dagger at her throat. He prepared to throw his spear, trusting to his aim to miss the girl and take out the man, before the flames could engulf them all. He stood on the edge of panic, his pyrophobia threatening to seize control; only the danger to Carissa kept him in the burning room.

“Stand down, both of you,” cried the Constable of Dür. “Drop your weapons or the girl dies.”

“She’s your only leverage,” Erol retorted. “Kill her and you follow next.”

“Perhaps,” Danyes sneered. “But I doubt you’d care to explain to her father how you got her killed.”

Erol ignored that and turned to try and wake Mariala, despite the Constable’s barked order to desist. At that moment Devrik’s eyes, already white rimmed in fear, widened a bit more as he saw a blade drop from Carissa’s sleeve and into her hand. With a determined and fierce grimace, she jammed the blade into her captor’s right thigh, making him scream in shrill agony.

His grip loosened, she dropped to her knees and scrambled away from him, even as Devrik loosed his spear at the man’s heart. But in the smoke, confusion, and most of all fear of the flames, his aim was wide and the Constable shivered at the wind of its passage by his head.

As Erol leapt forward to engage Ser Danyes, who drew his own sword, Darith leaned in, grasping his esrtswhile ally by the shoulder and the left wrist, and spoke briefly into his ear. The Constable seemed confused for an instant, but managed to block Erol’s first blow. Darith faded back into the smoke, and it seemed to him Erol that he slipped into the very stone of the wall. In any case, with the next eddy of smoke, the mage was gone.

Ser Danyes was a competent enough swordsman, but against Erol, even wounded and bleeding in half a dozen places, he stood little chance. When he suffered a wound to his arm that caused him to drop his sword, he decided discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and he yielded.

He was noble, after all, and what did they have on him? He might yet save his life, maybe even his position… he did have a great many powerful connections, many of whom owed him favors. And many more with vulnerabilities they would not want exposed… yes, better to take the affronted nobleman pose, and bluff it out to the end!

Erol looked around for Devrik, but found both him and Carissa gone. As soon as Devrik had snatched her from the floor, his instincts had taken over and he had fled the flames as quickly as possible. The smoke, the heat, the flickering light, it all brought back the terrifying memories of his childhood, when he had struggled to save his stepmother and brother from the inferno of their home, an inferno he had created, however unintentionally…

Carissa had pounded on him and yelled at him, trying to get him to go back and save Mariala, and the rest, but he stumbled on in the dark until the air cleared and the coolness soothed his jagged nerves. As his breathing slowly calmed, and he regained control, Carissa sat next to him and patted his arm, telling him it was OK.

As he was preparing to stand up and try to find the way out of the catacombs with no light, they heard the sounds of approaching people and saw the glow of a torch. In a moment they were joined by the rest of the Hand of Fortune, including Drake’s petrified body, which was being hauled in a push cart by Vulk.

“I can’t wait to show Drake this statue they made of him,” he explained to Devrik, who was equally puzzled at the strange artifact. “He’ll be amazed!”

“Er, that is Drake,” Erol offered, limping up, supported by Mariala, who had draped his arm over her shoulder and had hold of his belt. “He was turned to stone by that damned warlock… he showed up after you’d all fallen asleep… not sure how he found us…”

“What?!” screeched Vulk. “And you just left him there? If I hadn’t gone back in to get my staff, he’d still be in there!”

“Well, he didn’t seem to be bothered by the flames,” Erol explained. “I figured we’d come back for him later… and the fire was already dying out…”

They had continued trudging along, slowly, during this argument, and were drawing up to the side passage that had been cut into the older tunnel. From that tunnel they now suddenly heard the sound of many feet, and exhausted as they were, they drew weapons and prepared to fight.

But it was Colith and a squad of Hand of Vengeance mercenaries, led by Rigan and Justav. Colith was overjoyed to see them, with both Carissa and Ser Danyes in train, and better yet, Danyes in chains. But when his eye fell on the petrified form of his brother, he fell back, stricken. He turned to Vulk for answers and was horrified to learn what had happened.

“Yet one more thing to add to your butchers bill, you bastard,” he grated into the Constable’s ear as he hustled him up the passage toward the light of both day and justice.

After the capture of the traitorous, murderous Ser Andro Valador on the docks of Shalara’s Alienage, the bodies of three of the would-be assassin squad were carted away by the City Watch, while the three surviving assassins and Ser Andro were taken into the custody of the Royal Guard, by command of the Constable of Kar Landsar, Ser Haldar Venera.

The Hand of Fortune, with Ser Vulk as their spokesman, met with Ser Haldar in his office in Kar Landsar. He accepted the group’s credentials as official representatives of the Earl of Kinen, and was polite but cool. He made it clear he was responsible for the law in Shalara, and that the prisoners were now his responsibility.

All of the renegade knight’s possessions confiscated from his person were safely locked in the Constable’s own secure chests, and two guards were posted outside his prison door. Being a nobleman, however charged with felonies, he was to be accorded the basic courtesies of his rank – a clean, if small and sparsely furnished, room on the top floor of the castle’s Red Tower.

Vulk managed to convince the Constable, with lurid tales of the seemingly infinite reach of the conspiracy they believe to be behind Ser Andro, to allow one of their own to stand watch with the Royal Guards. Devrik volunteers for this duty, to be spelled in the evening by Erol.

He also convinces the Constable to allow them to see the three badly punctured surviving assassins, in the hopes of eliciting vital information from them. Five of the would-be killers had already been identified as known associates of the local Zalik-mal, but the apparent leader was still unknown.

Unfortunately, the Cantors of Mara who were just finishing up their care of the prisoners, in the dungeons beneath the castle, were adamant in their insistence that any questioning now would threaten their patient’s lives. The three were still in healing comas, from which they refused to rouse them. To the groups chagrin, the Constable backed the Healers, although Vulk and Mariala were allowed to examine the men.

Mariala confirmed her earlier discovery of the unique “anti-league” tattoo on the left wrist of the supposed ring-leader; Vulk confirmed that they were well tended, and likely to eventually recover. It was grudgingly agreed, on both sides, that morning would be the time to attempt questioning.

Leaving Devrik outside Ser Andro’s prison door, the group visited the Temple of Alea & Mara to seek treatment for the various wounds and injuries of the recent fight. They were given treatments, and after making suitable donations to the temple, they retired to the Earl’s townhouse to get some much-needed rest. Two days of 25-hour-a-day surveillance of the Swift Wind, and the fruitless search for Ser Andro’s hiding place, had left everyone exhausted.

After a half-day of rest, the group dines at a local inn, where they hear various tales, already growing distorted, of the now-infamous Gold Coin Riot of several days ago. The best version, to Drake’s annoyance, has the felonious knight Ser Andro Valador as the one who threw down the coin, seeking to hire an army of ruffians – variously, to cover his escape, mount an assault on the Earl of Kinen, or (mostly wildly) to assassinate the King. But the beloved Constable was on the job, and the renegade nobleman is now languishing in the dungeons of the royal castle, awaiting the King’s Justice!

After eating, Erol repaired to the Red Tower to relieve Devrik on guard outside Ser Andro’s door. Devrik elects to stay, getting some sleep in an adjoining, unoccupied, cell. When a serving girl brings up the prisoner’s supper, Erol is suspicious and examines it closely… half a capon, stewed vegetables, a small loaf of bread, a wedge of hard cheese, a small bowl of salt, and a skin of sour white wine.

Despite tearing the meal apart, Erol found nothing suspicious, and questioning the serving girl revealed the kitchen had taken the usual precautions against poisoning. Nonetheless, he insisted the wine skin should not be given to the prisoner, setting it aside as he took in the tray. Ser Andro questioned the lack of wine, and sneered at the quality of the food, but didn’t refuse to eat it. He was sprinkling salt over the chicken and the veggies as Erol exited the room, the Royal Guard locking the door behind him.

It was only a few minutes later that the guard closest to the heavy door thought he heard a strange noise. The others gathered close and listened, at which point a thump and a crash were clearly heard. Unlocking the door in haste, they entered the room to find their prisoner laying on the floor amid the wreckage of table and chair and meal, his body twisted as though on a wrack, and his face contorted into a frightening rictus of pain and fear.

Erol was the first to his side, but the staring eyes told the tale even before he checked for a pulse – Ser Andro was dead! He instantly dispatched one of the stunned guards to alert the Constable, and left the other to watch the body as he went to wake Devrik.

Devrik’s first reaction, on hearing the news, was to head for the kitchen to seek the assassin. He soon had the cowering cooks, scullery maids, and kitchen boys terrorized almost into incoherence. Eventually the Constable’s men arrived to save them, and a proper timeline soon emerged.

The food had been prepared, and the usual esoteric means of detecting poisons had been employed, before being put on a tray by the cook, who then looked around for a serving girl to take it up. The cook claimed he sent no salt up, but the girl maintained that the small ceramic bowl of salt, and the wooden salt spoon, were on the tray when she picked it up. Several people remembered seeing a nondescript man in the kitchens around that time, but no one could place him near the tray with any certainty.

Meanwhile, Erol had quickly found a castle page and sent him to the Earl’s townhouse to summon the rest of group. By the time they arrived the castle was in a turmoil, and the investigation well under way. The Constable was furious, as were the Hand, and both blamed the other for awhile.

But once Drake was able to identify the poison as White Death, a rare and insanely deadly poison used only by professional assassins, and the news from the kitchen revealed the method, people calmed down a bit. Mariala and the Constable quickly realized the other prisoners might also be in danger, and rushed down to the dungeons to check.

But Vulk was determined not to lose their best shot at convicting the Constable of Dür and exposing whatever conspiracy he was involved in – he once again decided to push his healing gift to the limit, and try to revive the dead knight. Despite Drake’s arguments that he had no antidote for the poison, and that none existed, Vulk prayed to Kasira for luck laid his hands on Ser Andro, focusing his healing energies into him.

And Kasira smiled on him – sort of. With a gasp, Ser Andro drew in a sudden breath, and turned his head to look into Vulk’s eyes in amazement. But before he could draw a second breath, his body arched wildly and his face once again writhed in incredible agony. Vulk heard bones snap as the man’s body twisted itself beyond its limits in his second death throes.

In less than a minute Ser Andro was dead again.

Mariala and the Constable arrived just in time to witness the poor bastard’s second passing, bringing equally bad news from the dungeons. While the two Zalik-mal prisoners were alive, if still sleeping, the supposed leader was not. No sign of struggle or trauma could be seen – the body looked as peaceful as the others, but was quickly cooling. The only odd thing Mariala had noted was that the tattoo on the left wrist was now gone – vanished as if it had never existed!

Despite being near to collapse from his attempt at psionic resurrection, Vulk acceded to Mariala’s wishes and headed for the dungeons to see if he could have more luck with this new corpse. But even as he laid hands on the body, he sensed something different about this one… nothing he could explain, just a feeling of even deeper emptiness than he had felt with Andro.

The resulting aural shock from this second failed attempt at revivification, despite his prayers to the Lady of Luck, caused Vulk to collapse in a pale and shaking heap on the dank stones of the dungeon. His friends were able to revive him after several minutes, but he was still weak, and required the help of two husky men from the Royal Guard to assist him back up to the constable’s office. He seemed to rather enjoy that part of it…

The Constable was now much more open to letting the Hand look through Ser Andro’s possessions, in the hope of salvaging some clue from the fiasco of the last several hours. Drake cataloged the items, which consisted of several sets of clothes in the duffle bag, a leather scrip containing 5 gp, 50 sp, 7 pearls (worth 100 gp total he estimated), an aquamarine worth 50 gp, and 3 rubies worth 100 gp each, and his dagger with the family crest on the hilt.

And best of all… a handwritten list of names and towns, tucked into an inner pocket of one of his tunics:

Joet Garin – Zebarin

Yon Cass – Shalara

Savin Dolastar –Kolosür

Jarath Pudos – Shalara

The group recognized the first name as that of the assassin who had poisoned the woreen at Zebarin, killing several people and almost killing that keep’s Constable.

The second name, Yon Cass, was recognized by the Constable as a known member of the local Zalik-mal, and in fact one of the would-be assassins killed in this morning’s fight on the South Haven docks. He also thinks the last name, Jarath Pudos, sounds familiar, but can’t quite but his finger on it, but immediately dispatches a rider to Kolosür, with a request to the authorities there to seek out and detain the third man listed, Savin Dolastar.

At which point there was little more to do until the Earl arrived. The surviving prisoners were vigorously questioned the next day, the 29th, with Erol and Mariala in attendance, the latter to use her truth sensing spell. As expected, they could shed no light on their mysterious leader… Yon Cass had assembled them, the stranger had directed them, and that’s all they knew.

The bulk of the 29th was spent resting, contemplating recent events, studying, praying, reading the Tarot, and shopping for various needed items… Vulk bought coudes to protect his elbows, which were finally recovering from recent wounds, and very good leather gauntlets to protect his hands. He also got a pair as a gift for Devrik.

The Earl’s steward arrived in the early morning of the 30th, to prepare the mansion, and around midday Lord Clarin and his entourage arrived. His first action, once dismounted, is to seek out Ser Vulk and the others to demand a report on his renegade brother-in-law.

He is understandably furious when he hears the whole story, but the bulk of his ire is directed at Ser Haldar, once the whole tale is told. He does grouse that Vulk should have insisted on holding Andro at the townhouse, but in fairness recognizes that the group was hardly in a position to oppose the legal authority of the capital city.

As much to avoid the disruption as the entourage settles in as anything, he quickly sets out to see the Constable of Kar Landsar. It is a rough meeting, but in the end the Constable is able to placate the Earl’s anger by agreeing that his agents could have free reign in the city as they work to uncover the agents behind Ser Andro’s assassination (and, almost certainly, behind the attempts on the Earl’s own life).

The next several days are spent moving about the town, seeking answers, enjoying the vast, tumultuous Summer Fair, guarding the Earl as he attends to the business of his fiefdom (wool prices, cloth contracts, etc.), and watching the movements of Jarath Pudos.

The identity of the man was revealed on the evening of the 2nd of Kilta, when the Earl attended a dinner at the town home of Lady Ethalyn Landsar the Elder, the King’s niece. Vulk and Mariala were guests, to fill out the company (most of the city’s nobility had already relocated to Kolosür for the upcoming Tournament), while Drake acted as their table servant and Erol and Devrik mingled with the guests’ armsmen and groomsmen in the courtyard, kitchens and stables.

Ser Danyes Bernan, the infamous Constable of Dür, was also in attendance, much to the annoyance of Lord Clarin. The two men sparred all evening long, in a subtle duel of verbal wit that the Earl came away from the victor, at least on points. It was during the meal that Drake and the others realized the Constable’s table servant was Jarath Pudos.

Drake made a foray with Jarath, in an attempt to perhaps infiltrate the Constable’s household, but was rebuffed with a contemptuous sneer… while it didn’t seem that Ser Danyes had recognized him as Draik Bartyne, it was obvious they knew who their enemies were in the Earl’s camp.

As Devrik, Erol and Drake spend the bulk of their time over the next several days taking turns watching and following Jarath, Mariala spend much time with Carissa, exploring the city and the Fair. During this time she heard much about the young maiden’s unhappiness at the her father seemed determined to marry her off to some old lord or another, when what she really wanted was to become a Healer of Mara.

Mariala did her best to try and explain the ways of noble life and a noblewoman’s responsibilities to her clan and house, but Carissa was buying none of it. It all came to a head on the 4th, when the Earl and much of his entourage took a day trip to Meluka, the seat of the Archkleros of Nolkior, for a meeting and formal luncheon.

When her father made it clear he was negotiating to send her to the abbey’s famed boarding school for a year or two of “finishing,” she flew into hysterics and ran off. It took an hour of searching before she could be found; Mariala was the one to finally coax her from her hiding place and convince her to dry her tears and make a fitting apology to her father and the Archkleros, as well as to all the servants who had been put out looking for her. The Earl’s countenance promised this was not the end of the matter, but nothing more was said on the ride home, or that evening.

The next morning the confrontation was again delayed as the Earl took Vulk with him to visit the Enclave of the Holy Oak, the Herald’s College of Nolkior. He wished to examine various family records concerning several young noblemen he was considering as prospective bridegrooms for Maid Carissa.

When they returned for the midday meal in the Great Hall of the townhouse, Lord Clarin summoned his daughter to discuss her behavior of the day before. But a panicked serving woman came back to cry that the girl was missing! A quick search of the house and grounds soon revealed that the Earl’s young squire, Arbos Urhano, was also not to be found.

No horses were missing from the stables, but immediate fears of kidnapping were allayed by Mariala’s discovery, with the girl’s maid, that her two best dresses and various pieces of jewelry were also missing. None of the squire’s meager possessions seemed to be missing, however.

The Earl, quietly furious and very grim, gathered every noble, guildsman and servant on the estate to the Great Hall and ordered that no public outcry was to be made. Only the City Watch and the Royal Guard were to be alerted. He dispatched guards to every city gate and to the docks, and split the remaining members of the Progress into groups of 4-6 people, commanding them to scour the city.

The Hand of Fortune, considered by the Earl at this point to be his most effective retainers, is given free reign to search as they see fit. Mariala and Devrik consult their Tarot decks, but gain little certain insight. The Temple of Alea & Mara is, of course the most obvious destination for the runaway, but they report no sign of her.

By sunset, as the searchers filter back and the rain begins to fall, the atmosphere at the townhouse is somber – no clue can be found. A sleepless night for the Earl, and no news by morning, lead him decide on a public announcement. Against Vulk’s advice Lord Clarin also offers a reward of 100 gold Crowns for his daughter’s safe return.

Shortly after the criers are sent abroad with his announcement a merchant and his apprentice roll up to the estate in a cart. In back is the dazed, bloody and battered squire, Arbos Urhano. He had been the first to notice Carissa was missing, but rather than raise the alarm, and thinking to spare her father’s ire, he sought her himself. Unfortunately, he picked the wrong alley to investigate, and was beaten, robbed and raped. He was lucky to be found by the merchant’s apprentice, who carried him home. He was cared for overnight, then brought to the Earl’s home, his livery telling them all they needed to know.

The town went crazy looking for the missing noble girl… everyone who looked even vaguely like her was being accosted in the streets. The HoF did their best to disperse and discourage such actions, but it was a losing battle. The City Watch had their hands full containing the growing frenzy.

Around midday the group came across two mobs in a violent tug-of-war over a girl. On closer investigation, they realize it really is Carissa, but before they can fight through the crowd to her, she was snatched by a shadowy figure, dragged into an alley.

The group followed quickly, but there was no sign of the girl or her captor in the dead-end alley. The only possibility was the large sewer grate at their feet! While most of the party, led by a relentless Devrik, leapt into the sewers in pursuit, Drake decided to return to Ser Danyes’ townhouse, in anticipation of that being the kidnapper’s ultimate destination.

Light and sound ahead proved that they were on the right track, and Devrik dashed into the dark, determined to catch up with the villain and dispatch him quickly, followed close by Erol. Mariala followed more slowly, with Vulk guarding the rear.

In a large circular junction chamber, where two torches on the far wall gave flickering illumination, they found four large, burly street toughs arrayed against them. Behind the wall of muscle they caught a glimpse of Carissa and her captor, who was revealed to be Jarath Pudos when the struggling girl knocked back his hood. With a triumphant sneer he whisked his victim into the right side tunnel, disappearing from sight.

Devrik never slowed down, plowing straight into the two men on the left, while Erol strove to drive through the men on the right. Both rushes threw back their adversaries a pace or two, but neither succeeded in breaking the line. Which, in the end, was unfortunate for the thugs.

It only took a few blows for Devrik to kill one opponent and wound the other, and for Erol to dispatch his own, the first of whom had his sword snap in half at the first parry. Mariala tried to help with Firenerves, but the spell’s failure had little impact on the fight.

Devrik paid no attention to the fallen men, but rushed on after Jarath, who had gained critical ground during the brief fight. Erol was close on his heels, followed by Mariala, while Vulk fought a brief, sharp fight with the remaining thug when he attempted to follow them. Despite briefly losing his sword, Vulk managed to badly wound his opponent into unconsciousness, leaving him to no doubt bleed to death in the sewers.

As they came to the next junction chamber Devrik heard the grinding of stone-on-stone and just glimpsed a secret door in the far wall closing. Unfortunately, before he could leap across the pool of murky water in the center of the chamber, a reptilian horror rose up out of it – a scabrous creature of bilious green and putrid yellow, with the body of a great serpent, the head half lizard/half man, and the long, muscular arms of a man, towering 10 feet over him, it’s head brushing the ceiling. Sharp, thick talons tipped each of the fingers of the hands on those arms, and the body coiled and writhed as the massive tail thrashed about, darting in and out of the pool.

Blocked by the monstrous creature, Devrik tried to slip past it, but was forced to fight. His first blow did little but nick the thick, scaly hide of the beast’s arm, while it’s tail landed a great blow to his own shoulder. Erol also leapt into the fray with his trident, nicking the monster’s other arm but doing no real damage.

Mariala didn’t hesitate to get into the fight herself, instantly summoning her water elemental. It took form in the very pool that the creature still occupied, rising up around it like a murky, translucent octopus, grappling it in coils of solid water.

This allowed Devrik to finally slip past it, and focus his attention on the wall, behind which Maid Carissa must be. But in the heat of his fury and the dim, flickering light of two torches, he was unable to puzzle out the secret of the hidden door. He tried brute strength to move it, but with no luck.

Vulk, coming up behind him, made his own attempt at opening the door, but also failed. As he contemplated the efficacy of prayer in this situation, Devrik turned in frustrated anger and leapt to attack the lizard-creature from behind. Distracted as it was by it’s life-and-death struggle with the water elemental, the monster never saw it coming, and Devrik’s blow almost cut it in two. It died with a last plaintive gurgle, sinking into the fetid waters of the sewer.

Mariala, rather than releasing the water elemental, sent it instead to try and open up the secret door. The elemental seeped into the cracks of the door, cracks too small for an Umantari to gain a hold, but enough for water to get in. Hydraulic pressure soon began to force the door open slightly, enough for Devrik and Erol to get a grip on its edge and force it open all the way. A dark tunnel was revealed, stretching away into darkness…